


Fire Under Ice

by NorthernBastard



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arthur Dayne Lives, BAMF Arthur Dayne, BAMF Jon Snow, Dark Humor, Dragons, Endgame Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Eventual Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Eventual Smut, F/M, Heavy Petting, I'm Sorry Ned Stark, Jon Snow Knows Something, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon Snow is an Asshole (kinda), Jon has a dragon (eventually), Magic, Minor Jon Snow/Female Characters, Minor Jon Snow/Jeyne Poole, Ned Stark Lives, Puberty hit Jon hard, R Plus L Equals J, Sexual Tension, slightly OOC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:21:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 100,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27640673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernBastard/pseuds/NorthernBastard
Summary: Ser Arthur Dayne should have died, struck in the neck by the Crannogman Howland Reed, in the fight outside the Tower of Joy. A mysterious figure was there to help him though and now, having allies in a place no one would even think  to look, the last true Kingsguard can scheme to put the rightful heir on the Iron Throne. There is only one problem, for the boy is secured inside Winterfell and his mysterious allies have their own agenda and their own plans for a promised king. Can they work together and help Jon Snow to become what he must an insure that the world will not crumble under Death's icy grip?
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Robb Stark/Margaery Tyrell
Comments: 774
Kudos: 575





	1. Prologue

Ser Arthur Dayne gripped the pommel of his sword, getting ready to fight the stranger at any second. He couldn’t see any weapon, but the hooded person sneaked up on them, at the three greatest Kingsguards, therefore was a threat. 

“State your business,” Gerold Hightower demanded. Arthur stole a glance in the direction of the tower, where he knew his lady was close to getting into labor. Or maybe she already was?

“Of utter importance,” the person said and Arthur furrowed his brow upon hearing a woman's voice. He relaxed a bit, for the woman was tiny, even cladded in layers of robes flapping at the wind. She couldn't pose a real threat to the three of them. “But I am sure such a statement would not be satisfying for you, my lords.“

Ser Gerold took a step forward unsheathing his sword. Seeing such an action from his commander, made Arthur bend his knees, getting ready for a potential fight. Woman or not, she wasn't supposed to be here.

“We have no time for games, my lady. State your business!”

The woman stood silently for a moment, her arms loosely hanging at her sides. She eventually raised her hand slowly and pointed at the tower. Arthur felt anxiety, almost fear at her carefree gesture. Something in this concealed woman suddenly rang for him like a danger, for no one being interested in events taking place in the Tower of Joy could be their friend. 

“Well, that,” Ser Gerold almost growled. “is definitely none of your business.”

“It is a business of every being in this world, dear Ser. Sadly it doesn’t matter anymore,” the woman said shrugging. “I am too late already. They will be here soon…” Ser Gerold glanced at Ser Oswell, who took a step forward, clearly inteding to take hold of the woman. Before he reached her though, she turned back from them and looked at the hill, her robes flying around her silently. Arthur followed her gaze and gritted his teeth, seeing a group of riders, carrying Stark’s banner. “Maybe it’s for the best. We shall see...” she continued in a wistfull tone. 

The woman turned back to them, the wind rising her hood a bit and Arthur looked at her face for a fleeting moment. She was painfully pale and skinny and her eyes were hollow, almost white. Her face got hidden in the shadow again and he thought he would have troubles with describing her precisely. 

“You should focus on them. I wish you luck.” She took hold of her robes and started to walk away, in the opposite direction. “You are going to need it.”

Ser Oswell moved towards her, to stop her before she would be able to sneak anywhere near the tower but the riders were closing in and there was no time to worry about the woman, who as far as he knew, could be only an ominous ghost.

And when Ser Arthur lied on the ground some time later and felt his blood flowing from his body, he thought that perhaps the woman was in fact the Stranger. That she was Death that came to collect them all. Them, the Kingsguard, their beloved Lady Lyanna and the child, that probably was lost forever. He closed his eyes succumbing to darkness.

* * *

“It is flattering,” he heard a whisper and opened his eyes slowly. His body was moving but not at his own accord. He was on a ship, he realized. He looked up seeing the same pale woman that stood before him in front of the Tower. He opened his lips but no sound came out. His whole body was in pain. “I believe you were calling me Death,” the woman smirked and put a cold rag on his forehead. Now, with her face visible, not hiding under the hood, he noticed that her eyes were the most unordinary pale green, almost white. 

“Lady… baby,” he whispered weakly, even though his throat was on fire and every syllable was ripping his neck open. The woman sighed heavily. 

“I am sorry. Lady Lyanna fought bravely but she didn’t make it.” Arthur closed his eyes in pain, different than the one his body felt. “The wolf took the baby. It is a boy.”

Arthur balled his fists and bent his legs, trying to sit up. The woman sighed again and gently stopped him. 

He took the babe to the stag. They had failed. How could they? Rhaegar will never forgive me.

“Now, now…” the woman patted his arm gently. “Don’t cry. I would not assume the worst.”

He looked at the woman and hoped that the question was clear in his gaze. “He loved his sister. He despises what the Lannisters have done to the rest of the royal children. If I am to bet… I bet that boy will be safe.”

The rest of the royal children? What does she mean? He wanted to ask but no sound came out. The woman changed the rag and slowly wiped his cheeks that he knew were wet with tears. “Maybe not happy, but safe." 

“Who?” he mouthed, because he needed to know. Who is that woman? 

She smiled. “I am called Vera. My people sent me here, to try and secure the baby. But as always, my useless brother was too late. His greenseeing is leaving much to be desired. You see, we have a plan for the child that was born two days ago.”

Two days? Has he been asleep for so long?

“And you are going to help us, Ser Arthur. I dug you from the grave the Northerners put you in, a man who should long be dead. Tell me, what force made you fight so hard? Is it your famous stubbornness?" She wiped his forehead again smiling softly. "When we arrive at my home I shall explain more. I hope you will make it there alive. It would be a shame to lose you now.”

“Where?’ he rasped closing his eyes. What was this nonsense? 

“Hidden Island,” she informed lightly and Arthur froze. This couldn’t be. Hidden Island was closed up for centuries, basking in the freedom that Aegon the Conqueror granted them. A small island located east from the Fingers and the North, surrounded by treacherous currents around its shore, always ominous and covered in the thickest fog. They had never interfered with Seven Kingdoms' matters, only occasionally trading some goods. Why now? What do they want? He tried to sit up again but this time the woman pushed him down with force, making him scream in pain. He glared at her and was greeted by a look full of malice. Her face changed from a pleasant expression to a mask of cruelty within seconds. “Rest, Ser Arthur, get stronger. Trust me; you don’t want to appear useless. My folk have no use for useless people.”

"Why?" he asked her silentely and Lady Vera smiled again, taking a quilt and covering him gently. 

"Because you know. And every person that knows the truth must be fine. The promised will need it and well..." she hesitated "we need him."

Arthur closed his eyes, not understanding her cryptic words. "Rest," she patted his cheek. "We should be home in a few days."

It is not my home, he wanted to argue. My home is South, in Dorne.

But perhaps he would be wrong saying that. His home was where his King was. And his King was traveling North. 


	2. Now it begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fifteen years have passed since events at the Tower of Joy. Peaceful times at Winterfell are disturbed by a ghost from the past.

Jon was dancing lightly at his feet, easily dodging Robb’s blows. He knew it was time to end it, to make a mistake that would guarantee his brother’s victory, it wouldn't do for the bastard to beat the trueborn heir afterall. He waited a few moments more and slightly lowered his sword, just a bit too much, making a perfect opening for a blade to hit his ribs. He instantly noticed Robb’s eyes shining with triumph when he saw his carefully staged mistake. Seconds later the training sword halted at Jon’s chest. 

“I yield,” he said simply and Robb stood proudly. 

“It was reckless, brother,” he chimed but Jon simply shrugged in answer. 

“My hand got tired,” he explained. “What did I do wrong?” 

“You put your elbow too low. It was a perfect opening for a stab. You cannot allow it to happen in real fight, Jon! You have to train the way Ser Rodrik suggested. I will show you later how,” Robb offered with honesty, really wanting to help his brother. Jon fought down a smirk and nodded slowly, pretending to think about Robb’s suggestion. 

“Yes, I think you are right. Maybe later you can show me how to do it properly. I have stable duty today,” Jon patted Robb’s arm. He really did have stable duty. And, in addition, he already practised Ser Rodrik's routine that morning. 

Robb put a hand on his shoulder as well and smirked. Gods, no. He knew that smirk.

“Remember to wash properly after the stables...” his brother drawled, mischief in his eyes only growing bigger. “You are going to be five and ten tomorrow.”

“Just like you are…” Jon rolled his eyes thinking about a way to quickly run away and escape. He knew very well of Robb’s intentions. 

“Well, I have been thinking… A few months ago I got a gift from Theon for my name day. And I want you to experience such joy as well.” Jon opened his mouth to interfere but his brother was in one of his moods, the ones where he remained focused on his idea, and nothing in the world could change his mind. “So, I already organized a meeting with Ros .” 

Jon stopped and shook his head. Dear gods, probably everyone has been talking about this already. Robb has never been very subtle. That would explain why two maids started to giggle this morning when he passed them in the hallway. 

“I told you that I don’t…”

“She is the best,” Robb continued paying his brother no mind. He looked around and leaned a bit closer to Jon. “She can do this thing with her tongue…” Robb whispered and lowered his gaze at Jon’s groin, while rising his eyebrows suggestively .

“By the gods…” Jon felt his cheeks flushing with blood. “Stop it! I am not interested!”

Robb gasped and rolled his eyes. “Of course you are!” Jon huffed turning around and walked away in the direction of stables. Robb was hot at his heels, smiling broadly. He half hugged him, squeezing Jon’s arm tightly. The boy paused, gritting his teeth, preparing for another spar, this time with their words. 

“I will not do it! I will not risk fathering a bastard!” Jon said, begging him silently with his gaze to understand. 

They have had this conversation many times already. Since the day Theon introduced Robb to the acts happening in the brothel, his brother had been focused solely on this. 

It had been a miracle that Lord Stark hadn't caught the two of them sneaking into Wintertown yet. Or maybe he knew but didn’t care? It would be hypocritical to berate Robb for something that lord Stark had done in the past. So far they hadn't invited Jon to go with them. But the time of peace was over.

Robb observed him for a moment, calmly and sharply and Jon was starting to believe that he had actually won but his brother only snorted. “Don’t be silly! She’s a whore. They know how to avoid it!” Jon opened his mouth again, feeling a cold anger taking over him. But he didn’t utter a word, because Robb patted his cheek and smiled at him, showing all his teeth. “You will stop being a green boy tonight, brother!” he said proudly. 

And then he left, laughing and in good spirit, while Jon stewed in his anger, growing irate. 

* * *

In the evening Jon tried to hide in the Godswood but Byron, a cook from the Winterfell kitchens found him there. 

“Your brother is looking for you,” the older man said gently. He sat heavily next to the boy and silently handed him a sweet roll. Jon couldn’t stop the smile at his gesture. The older man had been feeding him like that since Jon could remember. Every time, Lady Stark found a reason to cut short his dinner or send him to his room without supper, Byron had sneaked to his small bedroom with something good to eat. Sometimes it was just bread, sometimes it was a nice slice of his beloved meat pie, and sometimes, when it was Jon’s name’s day, it was a sweet bun or a roll filled with sugary fruits. Jon bit down and groaned. It was delicious. 

“Sweets today? My name day is tomorrow,” he asked with his mouth still full.

“You look like you could use some sweetness right now. As for tomorrow... I am not sure if I can give you anything,” the cook said, lowering his gaze. Jon felt a string of sadness pulling at his heart. 

“Oh, has something happened?” he asked worried. The man was very private, in truth Jon knew almost nothing about him, except that he has a daughter that lives somewhere east. "Is your family in trouble? Can I help you somehow?" Jon knew his possibilities are limited but this man showed him kindness many times. He would figure something out.

Byron sighed heavily shaking his head.

“Nothing for you to worry about lad. But tomorrow will be a day full of activities. You will see.” He stood up and patted Jon’s arm. “Go, your brother is looking for you,” he repeated. 

Jon shook his head. “I know but I don’t want to go with him. His idea is… silly.” Then he blushed under Byron’s sharp gaze. 

“Go!” the man urged. “Sometimes you have to pick your battles. Let your enemy believe he won… and then come out with something else.”

“Robb is not my enemy,” Jon rolled his eyes playfully and smirked. Byron was serious though, expression strange for his usually joyful face.

“Brothers, family, allies… They can all be enemies. Sometimes they just haven’t shown their true colors yet.”

With those ominous words, Byron left him and suddenly the sweet bun Jon was chewing wasn’t so sweet anymore. 

* * *

He decided to follow the advice of the older cook about picking his battles. And here he was, being pushed by Robb and Theon to the door that lead to the brothel. He tightened his grip on the satchel that Robb gave him and smiled at his companions.

They were laughing, little shits, sure that they managed to drag him here to, as Theon put it, make a man out of him. Why the action of putting a pecker inside a random woman was considered an act of maturity in the Greyjoy's eyes, Jon wasn’t sure. But Theon was just an Ironborn, he couldn’t expect too much from that dumbshit. 

Jon had his own plan though. He swore to not commit the same transgression that his father once did. He would never bring another bastard into this horrible world. A world that has been designed for trueborns. He had some extra money on him and was about to pay Ros a few coins more, all to ensure that she would remain quiet. Well, maybe she would even be kind enough to say a few good words about him? He couldn’t wait to see that smug look being wiped from Theon’s face when the most beautiful girl in Wintertown praises the Bastard of Winterfell's skills as a lover. He smiled at that thought, this time truly and broadly. Though he didn't want word to get back to Lady Catelyn. Jon would never prove any of her words about his 'lustful and covetous' nature true.

“Go away,” Jon said turning to Robb and Theon, “I will find my way.”

“Oh no!” Theon crossed his arms and laughed nastily. “You're going to run away the first chance you get, you coward! We know you're too scared to use your little….”

“Enough,” Robb interfered and yanked Theon away shaking his head. “Fine, we're going to give you some privacy. We will meet in the training yard on the morrow. Have fun brother!” Robb grinned. Both boys laughed and waved at him, leaving him alone in front of the brothel’s door.

Jon knocked and after a moment the door opened, but it was not Ros that came out to greet him. He faced a slim, pale lady, with long dark hair and eyes so light green that almost looked white. She was quite comely, maybe a bit older than he would expect… a woman of such profession to be, and something in her gaze was deeply unsettling. She smiled gently at him, a gesture that made her face truly lovely.

“Come inside Jon. It is awfully cold out there.”

He was surprised that she knew his name. Did Robb actually warn every woman in the brothel he would come here? Jon wanted to groan at that thought.

He walked inside without a word and clasped his hands together, feeling them lightly shaking. 

“Umm, I… I came to see Ros,” he stuttered out. He was man enough to admit to himself that he sounded pathetic. His voice was shaking and strangely high pitched. 

The woman smiled again and pointed to the right. It was strange, for there was no sound inside the house. He expected to face some activity, maybe some noises of pleasure coming from behind closed doors but except for the crackle of the fire there was nothing. He smiled tightly in thanks and walked over to the indicated door. He raised his hand to knock but hesitated. Should he even knock?

“Go in,” the woman urged. He looked at her again and she was watching him with an almost hungry expression. “We were expecting you.”

Jon took a deep breath and opened the door walking slowly inside. “Hello,” he greeted. He looked around expecting to see Ros, maybe propped on her elbow and waiting invitingly, laid out on the bed but there was nothing. The room was completely empty and dim, with only a few lit candles and heavy curtains hanging loosely everywhere. The bed was made up and piled with heavy furs but no sight of Ros whatsoever. He furrowed his brows and turned around almost jumping when he noticed the strange woman from before standing right in front of him. When did she sneak up on him?

“What a shame,” she whispered. “She must have left.” 

Jon swallowed loudly, feeling… like prey, he realized. Once upon a time, during a hunt Jon got lost in the wood and he felt the same. The cold feeling of a predator lurking in the shadow, looking at him and waiting...

“Yes… That’s fine,” he tried to smile but failed. “I should go.” He made a move to pass the woman but she quickly stepped aside and blocked him. He gulped. 

“Why?” she put a hand on his chest and Jon almost shivered. Her touch wasn’t comforting but it was strangely erotic. Her hand was cold like ice and Jon felt coldness traveling to his groin. He blushed furiously when he realized his breaches were getting tighter. He wanted to be as honorable as possible but he was made of flesh and blood. And his blood was almost boiling in his southern region. He needed to leave. Everything screamed at him to get out, that something was terribly wrong. He shouldn’t have listened to Byron. 

“I…” he took a deep breath. “I was to meet Ros.”

“Oh…” the pale woman bit on her lower lip and glanced down. ”Everyone wants Ros. She is such a beauty, a redhead with round buttocks and big breasts. I would risk an assumption that her cunt is quite used though. I am sure you could do better.” She moved a bit closer, her hand slowly moving from Jon’s chest to his stomach and hovering right above his throbbing member. Her gaze moved back to his face. She was looking at him with a gaze that made him squirm. “I believe that Robb Stark would want the best for you. After all it’s your name day gift Jon.” Her hand traveled even lower and almost grazed over his hardening shaft but Jon frowned and quickly took a tentative step back. 

“I should leave,” he said with more force. He could have easily pushed the woman aside and just walked away and yet, his body was so tense that he wasn’t sure if he'd manage to do so. She sighed heavily. 

“Oh Jon,” she shook her head. “You are not going back to Winterfell.”

He tightened his mouth and took another step away, putting more distance between them. What was she talking about? 

It was a reflection of light, some flash he noticed out of the corner of his eye that told him to turn around. But it was too late, because strong arms surrounded his shoulders, immobilizing him in a tight grip. The last thing he remembered was this strange woman blowing a colorful powder in his face and everything went dark. 

* * *

Arthur put the boy gently on the bed. Jon was out cold, unconscious and dead weight in his arms. The knight felt like his heart was about to burst open when he could closely look down at his young King. His cheekbones, nose and chin… He was all Rheagar.

It was nothing short of a miracle that no one recognized the Dragon in him! 

He turned back to Vera and gritted his teeth. “Now what?” he demanded, while taking a handkerchief and wiping the powder from the boy’s face. The substance was nasty, he knew that upon waking up, Jon would be very sick. How he wished they could have done this his way! 

“Now,” the green eyed woman smirked “I am going to have a chat with Lord Stark.”

* * *

Robb sat in front of him, pale and scared. Theon stood behind, trying to look indifferent but it was clear he was worried too. 

“What happened?” Ned demanded. 

Robb glanced at his father and then at Jory and exhaled. “We… invited Jon to the brothel. As a gift for his name day.”

Ned tightened his fists. “Are you so well versed with brothels, son?” 

Robb glanced at Theon fleetingly and his cheeks grew hot.

“Not really, father. But…”

“To the point!” Ned interrupted him. 

Robb finally fully met his gaze. “We went there in the morning, because Jon was late and…”

“No one was there, or at least we thought so at first,” Theon continued. “But then we walked further inside and in one room… We feared they were all dead but…”

“They were only unconscious,” Robb finished. 

Lord Stark looked up at Jory who nodded grimly.

“Four girls were closed in the room upstairs. We had a difficult time to wake them up, my lord. All they could tell us was some nonsense about a witch and a magic powder.”

“And Jon?” Ned asked. Fear took hold of his heart. “Were there any sightings of Jon?” 

“He wasn’t there my lord,” Jory said carefully. “We recognized the satchel that young Robb gave him, coins were left intact.” Ned noticed that his guard had something more to say but he clearly wished to do it in private. 

“Leave," Ned ordered his son and Theon. 

“Father!” Robb tried but Lord Stark only glared at him. 

“Out! You sent Jon alone to Wintertown, to the brothel of all places and now, he is gone! I am sorely disappointed! Did he even want to go there?” One look at the regret on Robb’s face told him everything. “Of course not! Sometimes I ask the gods why you cannot possess half of the maturity that Jon has! You have a lot to learn from him and I hope you will get a chance to. Get out of my sight!” 

Robb bit his lower lip. Ned could swear that tears filled his son’s eyes but he had no time for his dramatics. He should regret his actions, for putting his brother in harm's way. He waited for the boys to leave, shaking gently from barely contained anger.

His Jon… Who could do that? Why someone would take his bastard son? He could not allow himself to listen to the little voice in the back of his mind, the voice that has been whispering that it wasn’t just some lowborn bastard that had been taken. 

“My lord…” Jory exhaled slowly. “I saw something on the table, right next to the satchel. It was tiny, I almost missed it…” 

“What?” Ned pointed him to a chair and his captain of the guard sat down. 

Jory raised his eyebrows with question and gestured for some parchment, which Ned gave him quickly. He waited for Jory to stop drawing and closed his eyes momentary before he looked down at the sketch. Lord Stark almost groaned. 

“It is so strange, my lord. Why would whores carve this into wood? It was clearly fresh and… I could swear it looks like…”

“Yes, Jory,” Ned interrupted him in clipped tone. “Like a sword and a falling star.” Lord Stark closed his eyes. “Leave me, please.”

Jory left silently and Ned exhaled, covering his face in hands. What is going on? Why would House Dayne have taken Jon? Did they hear rumors about Jon being a son of Ashara? Could they be in need of a male heir? Why? He hadn't heard of any problems in Starfall! 

He again tried to silence a voice in his head, whispering to him that there is someone from House Dayne who would have done everything to put his hands on Jon. But that man has been long dead, so this couldn’t be him. The Sword of the Morning had fallen and he personally buried him under the remains of the Tower of Joy. 

A soft knock interrupted his train of thought. He invited the person inside, expecting it to be Catelyn. When he raised his gaze he frowned though. A cook?

“Forgive me, my lord,” the small elderly man bowed gently. 

“Whatever you want, it is not a good time,” Ned waved him off. “Speak with my steward, Vayon Poole.” 

The man didn’t move though, on the contrary, he laughed loudly. Ned glared at him coldly.

“You will find the time, wolf,” the man spat matching his cold tone with venom. 

Ned had seen this man many times, always subdued and polite, smiling gently at everyone. Now, he was facing a grim man that was staring his lord down with barely contained arrogance. 

The cook outstretched his hand and showed Ned an envelope. “My lady has a message for you.”

Ned stood up slowly, coming closer to the man while his hand moved to the dagger on his hip. “Is it about my son?” Ned almost growled. The man smirked, shaking his head. 

“No, it is about your _King.”_

* * *

Jon groaned and tried to move his legs but his whole body was groggy and heavy, every fragment of him felt strangely constricted. He slowly opened his eyes and felt a wave of memories washing over him. Brothel, a flash of light, strong arms, and a strange pale woman blowing a powder at his face. 

The same powder he now saw laying on the palm of a hand, pointed straight at his face again. He had no idea where he had found the strength within himself but his arm surged forward and took a hold of her wrist. The woman's pale green eyes grew big with fear when she realized he was conscious. He quickly yanked her closer, and he truly hoped that the gods would forgive him, for he bashed his forehead on her nose with every ounce of strength he could muster. She screamed and the fountain of blood splashed over his cheeks. 

He had never stricken a woman before but willed himself to not feel shame for his action. She was clearly a threat and there was no place for chivalry when your life’s in danger. He pushed her away and she fell to the ground, groaning and holding her bloodied nose. 

Jon shook his head and slowly stood up from the bedding. He was unsteady on his feet, his head was throbbing so much that he was sure it would burst open. 

At the other side of a small cabin he saw a door though and his attention was solely on it. He had to stay strong and escape. It felt like hours had passed from when he stood up till he finally reached for the doorhandle. He pushed the heavy door and lost his balance, falling outside, straight onto the fresh snow. He looked around, seeing only an endless sea of pinetrees gently swaying in the wind. 

He was in the Wolfswood somewhere, he realized dazed. 

Jon propped himself on his elbows and almost sat up but his legs felt like they weighed a ton. In addition his shoulders started to shake violently. 

“Stop laughing!” he heard a woman from inside and willed himself to move quicker.

He was almost on his feet when strong hands took hold under his arms and yanked him up. Whoever was holding him clearly wasn’t the woman he hit a moment ago. He could feel the strong muscles of his captor when he raised him, like Jon was nothing more than a little child. 

Jon closed his eyes and focused. There was still a chance for him to run. He tilted his body a bit, looking like he’s about to fall over and when his opponent leaned foward to keep him up, Jon turned around and punched him.

Well, almost punched him. His fist barely dabbed the man’s beard. He fell forward, straight into the man’s chest. They almost looked like they were two drunk men hugging, Jon swaying on his feet weakly. Such a sight would have been hilarious if he was not fighting for his life. Jon cursed his state. Again, his muscles grew weak and his legs and hands were shaking. He started sliding down his captor's chest. 

The bearded man slowly dragged him back inside and Jon was like a lifeless puppet in his hands. Frustration made his eyes water with anger. 

“Now, now,” the man said gently, almost in a soothing manner. “You are too frail for such antics.” 

He slowly sat Jon down on the bed and pushed him over gently, till Snow’s head hit the pillow. 

“I know. She used that damn powder on me a couple of times," he admitted with a hoarse voice, almost like his throat was sore. Every word spoken barely above a whisper. 

_What is this man talking about?_

“I must congratulate you. You have managed to do something I have been dreaming of doing for the last fifteen years.” 

Jon opened his eyes and looked at the man, a bit surprised when he saw his eyes. They were violet, such a strange color, he has never seen the like before. He had rugged looks, a long beard and a nasty scar over his neck. 

The woman from before, the same woman from the whore house, walked closer and Jon’s body tensed when he saw how furious she was. Her nose was bloodied, probably broken. She held a handkerchief to her face and was glaring daggers at him.

“If you were anyone else…” she started but the man stepped in front of her, covering Jon from her gaze.

“I suggest you think about your next words. For if I hear one threat toward His Grace I will take your head.”

_His Grace?_

Jon groaned when a throbbing pain in his forehead grew bigger. What did they do to him? His stomach was in knots and he felt nauseous.

“Fine,” the woman hissed. She looked down at Jon and grimaced. “We must fix him up a bit,” she judged coldly. “Take it!” She put down a bucket next to the bed. “Help me!” she instructed the man, who sighed heavily and helped Jon move a bit, over to the edge of the bed. 

The boy tried to fight down, but his struggle was pointless. The woman almost pushed his head into the bucket and before he could react, she shoved her fingers into his mouth and deeper, hitting a sensitive spot in his throat. 

In the privacy of his mind, Jon used every term of abuse he knew, when he was forced to vomit to the bucket. What was strange, was the fact that the man was soothingly patting his back all the while, whispering words of comfort. 

“You will feel better soon,” he was promising gently, brushing Jon’s curls from his forehead. “Go on, you have to get rid of it.” 

Jon groaned when the bucket was finally taken away. The man gently wiped Jon’s mouth with a wet rag and the woman handed him a cup of water. He glared at her and was met by an equally venomous stare. He was not going to drink it.

“I will force you,” she warned with malice, one eyebrow raised in challenge. 

“It’s just water,” the violet eyed man quickly assured him and Jon watched as he took the cup and drank few big swallows. “Please, drink Your Grace.” He put the cup to his mouth but Jon shook his head. 

He was still barely conscious and confused. _Why did this man keep calling him that?_

“Please,” his kinder captor repeated. “It is for your own good. Please, trust me. I would never harm you!” 

Jon looked up and something in the man's face, maybe his honest, worried expression or the sheer desperation in his tone, convinced him to give it a try. He needed to drink, he needed to wash out the foul taste in his mouth. His hands weren’t really working so he allowed the man to give him a drink. He was sipping slowly, cold water pleasantly soothing his throat. 

The moment of relief ended when the woman pushed the man aside, taking the cup and forcing Jon to lay back down. 

“How sweet and lovely,” she snickered. She put her hands on her hips. Jon wasn’t sure if her sneer was directed at him or her accomplice. “Impressive though,” she said with raised eyebrow. “You are stronger than I expected.” 

She walked away and Jon saw her washing her face in the basin, cleaning the blood. 

“You are probably confused, Jon. It may be hard to believe…” the woman turned to him and Jon congratulated himself silently. Yes, her nose was definitely broken. “But we wish you no harm.”

“You took me against my will,” he said, barely above a whisper but was glad that his voice sounded angry enough. “I demand you release me right away!” 

She smirked at his tone and the man stood a bit taller, almost looking proud. 

“He has it in his blood,” he said with a soft smile. 

The woman came closer and sat next to him on the bed and Jon instantly moved a bit away. He wanted to put as much distance from himself and this crazy woman as possible. 

“Fine, if you want, walk away. Go back to Winterfell to the traitorous Lord Stark, to his cruel and capricious wife. Go on! Go and rot there, always second best, always pretending you are weaker, you are dumber than the little lording. Go there and get back to cleaning stables and armor like the little servant you are to all of them. A walking disgrace and shame, that has to be hidden, likely at the Wall, among the scum of Westeros.”

Jon balled his fists, feeling anger washing over him. He glared at her but she only smirked nastily. “Go on begging for the leftovers and wood to warm yourself in your hole of a room. Even servants sleep in better quarters!”

“Shut up,” Jon grumbled. He was almost sure that if he tried hard he could manage to punch her again. Suddenly hitting a woman wasn’t as unimaginable for him anymore. 

“What? Am I lying, bastard?” she said the last word with disgust, hatred and spite. She almost sounded like Lady Catelyn, the mere reminder of her tone sending unpleasant shivers of shame down his spine. 

“Enough!” the man walked over and looked at her from above, his face furious. 

“Why?” she raised an eyebrow. “It is what he is to them.” She looked back at Jon. “Aren’t you? Unwanted, son of a whore that spread her legs…”

She didn’t finished her sentence because her companion, or at least the man, Jon believed to be the woman’s companion, reached for her and closed a hand over her neck.

“You will not dare to speak to him of my lady like that! Shut up!” he growled and Jon froze. Boy felt his heart beating in his chest, harder and faster, some realization growing in him. 

“My mother?” he whispered. “You know of my mother?”

The man closed his eyes briefly and let the snide woman go. She cleared her throat and cracked her neck. Her face was triumphant, clearly pleased with herself. She seemed to be undisturbed by being roughed like that. 

Jon’s attention was solely on the man though. He knew something. “Who was my mother? Can you tell me?” he asked again, the same question that he has been asking Lord Stark many times only to never get an answer. The only thing he ever wanted to know.

A sudden thought entered his mind. “Did she send you here? To get me back to her?”

He was sure his heart was going to explode from his emotions. Had she been looking for him? Maybe Lord Stark took him against her will? Maybe she had been trying to get him back and eventually was forced to hire some bandits to steal him away? It all sounded like a crazy fantasy but it was possible, right? 

Jon looked at the woman and furrowed his brows. Was she his mother? Her hair was dark and curly like his…. By the gods, did he hit his mother?! 

Woman laughed. “Your face is very expressive.” She smiled lightly and grimaced instantly touching her nose. “I believe, my companion should have the privilege to answer your questions.” She looked up at the man, who was still looking at Jon, almost apologetically. “Ser Arthur, do you mind?” 

The man, Ser Arthur, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Jon watched shocked as the man swiftly unsheathed his sword and kneeled in front of him. “I don’t mind.” He looked Jon straight in the eyes, his gaze clear and elated. “I shall answer any question my King asks.”

And he did. And the truth had been more outlandish than any tale Old Nan could have ever told. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked this chapter, please leave a comment or kudos! It really means a lot 😊  
> What do you think about Vera and Arthur? 
> 
> Big thanks to amazing Queen_Lyanna for beta-reading!


	3. In the Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Stark is forced to deal with his past and Jon comes up with a resolution.

“As the commander of your guard I must argue against your idea, my Lord!” Jory stood in front of him, keeping his lips closed in a thin line. 

Ned inhaled slowly. “I appreciate your concern, Jory, but I will be fine on my own,” he assured even though he wasn’t so sure of that. 

If Arthur Dayne was by some miracle alive and it’s him waiting in the woods, and not the mysterious Lady Vera of the Hidden Island…. Well, then Ned was sure that famous knight would take his revenge. 

_I had no chance against him then and I would not defeat him now._

He wanted desperately to believe that the Dayne sigil was only a ruse, a method for getting his attention. No man could have survived such wounds after all. And yet, a small part of his mind was worried.

_But they have Jon, so I must take that risk._

“I will exchange gold for my son and will be back. You will stay where I instructed you.” 

“But we will surely chase after them later?” Jory asked, his eyebrows raised. “They have taken your son, do they think…”

“Enough.” Ned put on his gloves and checked that his sword’s belt was properly fastened. “As I said the first time, I want my son back with me. It is shame enough that some bandits were aware of Robb’s activities and decided to exploit them... We will keep it quiet, because I am not going to suffer mockery over that. We will pay, we will get Jon back to Winterfell where he belongs, and we shall forget this incident every happened. No one except our small circle is to know about this, do you hear?”

The words tasted foul in his mouth but that’s how the instructions in the letter were presented. To pretend that someone wanted to take Robb but by mistake took his bastard. Sneaky and clever. 

His hands were tied though. He was walking blindly in the fog, that mysterious woman waving him onward. He didn’t doubt for a moment that Jon’s life was in danger. Even though the cook and sender of the letter had been calling Jon their King... There was no logical explanation to that except the fact that they somehow knew. And if they knew they had to be taken care of. 

“If someone is brash enough to take a lord’s son…” his commander started again.

“Jory!” Ned roared eventually, temper getting the better of him. He was sweating heavily and his troubled thoughts only added to his frustration. “One more word and you will be sent back.” 

His guard balled his fists and waited for his lord to mount a horse, silently following his lead. Ned exhaled handing him an hourglass.

“You will wait till it takes a full circle. If I don't come back, you will order every man to make chase across the Wolfswood. There are two of them at least and they will move toward White Harbor. We know of a mysterious, dark haired woman but there might be a man with her. Jory…” he looked his friend dead in the eyes, “if that is so, this man is probably the most dangerous person in Seven Kingdoms. If you find them…” Lord Stark paused momentarily. “You will kill them on the spot. Do you understand? You will use arrows, bolts and even hounds, but they must die. Especially that man. Don’t risk a sword fight with him, just surround him and get it done.”

Jory frowned. “But my lord…” 

“Don’t question me any more, just follow my orders. Find Jon and have everyone that is with him killed. On the spot! Do you understand?” 

Jory nodded slowly, clearly shocked by his liege's orders. To kill men like that? Even bandits? Winterfell guards would surely be able to defeat them with honor. Was it a chase or a hunt? 

“They all must die and I care nothing how disgusting or dishonourable you find it.” 

With that Ned Stark closed his eyes, and said a little prayer, hoping the gods will forgive him, and he rode into the Wolfswood. 

* * *

“I have heard a lot about you, Lord Stark,” the woman greeted him standing proudly in front of a large tree, next to the third crossroad inside the Wolfswood. Right where she 'invited him to speak'.

“I personally have heard nothing about you, Lady Vera.” He dismounted his horse and walked closer, his hand tightly gripping the pommel of his sword. “It is not every day when someone from the Hidden Island visits Westeros. And commits a crime.”

He looked at her carefully. She was a short woman, clad in heavy furred robes, that were somehow still revealing. He focused on her bruised face and her clearly broken nose. She noticed his gaze and snickered touching her injury. 

“Jon is a fighter. He got me, I won’t lie...” she said lightly, sounding almost impressed. 

“If you harmed him….” Ned started but the woman just looked around and smiled. 

“It is quite pretty here. We don’t have much by way of forests, mostly meadows and sharp rocks… Our home is beautiful though, in its own way. Jon will surely like it.” She looked back at him and smiled softly. “Our methods can ring as harsh but I found out that you and Jon are rarely leaving the Castle. And sadly, I was not welcomed inside, so…”

“So you decided to steal my son?” Ned asked coldly, willing himself to remain as calm as possible while in fact he wanted nothing more than to strangle the woman right away. His guards will be there soon, all he needed to do was find out where Jon is and what her agenda really was. 

“Now, stop with the lying. We both know he is not your son. Why bother keeping up appearances when there is just the two of us?”  
Ned felt the blood in his veins growing impossibly cold. To hear someone say it out loud was almost making his heart stop.   
“I was there, near the Tower of Joy, you know. When your sister fought hard to deliver the boy,” the woman continued, smirking at his furious gaze. 

“What do you want?” he growled shaking his head. He must find Jon and take care of her. “Where is Jon?’

“Nearby. Ser Arthur is looking after him, as he always should have been.”

He couldn’t believe it. “He…” Ned cleared his throat. “He is dead.”

“He isn’t.” Vera smiled at him broadly. “Your friend's cowardly strike almost ended him though. But he is fine now. He is fine and by the gods, he is furious!” 

Ned wanted nothing more but to get on his horse and run away, as far as possible from this deranged woman. He felt his body tensing, getting ready to fight.

“I ask you again, what do you want?!” 

“We want the King,” she informed coldly. “We swore to wait for the right one and when he had finally been born you stole him!” her voice rang loud and clear. “We want to give him what should always been his. It has been promised centuries ago.”

Ned took a few steps closer, his grip on his weapon tighter. “You come here, speaking nonsense and endangering my family with your lies and madness. I could kill you right now. Do you think I will hesitate?”

“You should,” she snorted not moving an inch. “Because my people are now in King's Landing. And if I don't come back, everyone will hear a song of a stolen Dragon, traitorous Wolf and soon, also a song about an angry Stag and broken North.” Ned paused, hesitating. “We have been planning for the last fifteen years, Lord Stark. If you kill me we will start a fire that will consume you, your children and the whole North. Meanwhile Jon will be safe with us, on our secluded Island that has never been conquered. Only you and your family will lose. Because we both know, Robert Baratheon won’t forgive such treachery.“

“You have no proof of your statement,” Ned said, trying his best to not look scared. The mere idea of simple gossip reaching Robert… not only Robert but also the Lannisters, would be catastrophic. 

“You would be surprised,” Ned heard a breathy whisper and turned around quickly unsheathing his sword. 

He was ashamed when he realized that his hand was shaking gently, when he saw a figure standing between trees, his face partially hidden under the hood. The man took his hood off and glared at Ned coolly. Deep in his heart he knew who that man was but by the gods, he would not have recognized him. 

He was older, some hair on his temple shining silver and he'd grown a beard that was hiding his face. 

_He aged just like we all did_ , Ned thought bitterly, _but his stance is strong_. Ned had seen enough warriors to realize that the Sword of the Morning was still in shape, as deadly as he'd always been. He kept two swords on him but his hands were hanging loosely, almost like he was not intending to reach for them. That was a small comfort though. 

“Ser Arthur,” Ned nodded his head slowly. Suddenly, the knight’s eyes shone dangerously.

“Don’t speak in my direction, Stark… Don’t dare to pretend showing some respect! I may not contain myself otherwise.”

“Before Arthur decides to take your head, Lord Stark…” Vera snickered “could we continue? Tell me, can you really deny it? The fact that Jon is the rightful heir to the Throne? That he is the child of Lady Lyanna and Prince Rhaegar? Their trueborn son?”

Ned didn’t answer, so the woman took a step closer and glared at him. Meanwhile Ned realized that Arthur Dayne was walking slowly closer, circling him like a wolf would circle a deer. _So this is how I am going to die…_

“Do you deny that you wanted to send him to the Wall, to keep him safe… or maybe just to steal his birthright from him, once and for all? To keep your best friend's crown secure?” 

The Lord of Winterfell was quiet, thinking what to do with this situation. He had no idea where Jon was. This strange woman was able to drug unconscious every whore at the brothel and took Jon right from under their very noses. Ser Arthur Dayne was in front of him, probably only waiting for a signal to kill him. And Ned wouldn't hold against him long enough for his guards to come.

“I did what my sister asked of me,” he finally admitted quietly. He could lie to her further, but the Kingsguard knew the truth. “Jon is of Stark blood!” He turned to Arthur and spat the last part at him. “You are both delusional and mad! You stole him and… and what next?” he said with anger. “Do you think he will believe such nonsense? I raised him and I care for him! I won’t allow you to take him and risk his life for some stupid throne! Where is my son?” 

The moment he spoke those damn words out loud he knew he made a mistake, because Lady Vera smiled broadly and slowly raised her finger. Ned frowned and followed its path looking up. He froze upon seeing Jon seated on a tree branch, looking at them from above. In the damn tree… 

“I thought she was lying,” his son said gently from his branch. “I was sure it was some cruel joke.” Lya's boy slowly started to descend from the tree and landed next to him, looking Lord Stark in the eyes coldly. “I said I would believe it only if I heard it from your mouth… and I did. I am leaving, uncle,” Jon informed.

Ned raised his hand but Jon shifted away, avoiding contact.

“I would like to go to Winterfell first, to say my farewell to my… to my siblings. Especially Arya.”

“Jon…” Ned said pleadingly, his eyes searching the strange woman. She was smiling with triumph. Ned wanted to scream in frustration when Arthur Dayne finally walked over, taking a place next to Jon. If Vera looked triumphant, Arthur looked like a predator that just fed on his pray. 

“You know it must be this way, Lord Stark. You have been stopping me for too long already,” Jon continued in an emotionless tone. 

“Don't act rashly now.” Ned glared at the woman, wishing to wipe her gloating expression. “Allow me to explain everything and discuss this matter. What you heard…” Ned took a deep breath. “I won’t deny it further. You must understand that all I did was for your own good. Robert would have killed you. Please…” he was begging gently. “Stay with us. It is not… you don’t need the throne, you don't need them!”

Jon’s eyes grew colder. “You have no idea what I need,” the boy said with sadness. “You have never cared for my needs, not really! You stole my birthright from me. You all have been feeding me stories of the honourable Night’s Watch, probably hoping that I will go to the Wall willingly, to rot there for the rest of my life! And… tell me truly? Is that really a good place for me? Do you think that’s what my mother would have wanted? Do you think your sister would congratulate you for how you raised me? That she would be pleased with the way you allowed everyone to treat me? Do you know how hard it was…. Telling myself that I have been given more than I deserve and at the same time being so horribly jealous of the love and respect Robb and your other children have received? Crying myself to sleep wishing that I could be trueborn, worth just a bit more? It’s been driving me mad!”

“Jon,” Ned tried again, reaching to grab his shoulder but paused when Jon pushed against his chest. Lord Stark took few steps back, watching his son with slight fear. 

“Don’t touch me!” Jon balled his fists. “I have been stopping myself from being better than Robb, because I truly believed that I shouldn’t be. I knew that if I bested him in anything Lady Lady Stark would have…“ Jon tightened his lips not finishing his thought. “I am thankful, I truly am. You saved my life, I understand that. But at the same time I want to strangle you! I have begged you so many times to tell me about my mother! I…” Jon paused and Ned noticed tears shining in his eyes. 

He reached for him again but suddenly a sword appeared in front of his face and Ned locked gazes with Arthur whose eyes were silently begging him to take a step forward, closer to his King, just so he could carve him open. 

"My King doesn't wish to be touched by you," he threatened. "Better heed his order, you mangy dog."

“I have been given a mere part of what should have been mine," Jon continued not bothering with the tension between the two men. "If not for their intervention you would continue to allow me to live believing that I am nothing. I have never been nothing! I am the blood of wolves and dragons!”   
Jon stepped few paces back breathing heavily. “And all I have heard my whole life was that I am a stain on your honor. Nothing better. I dreamt of greatness as a young child but quickly came to realize that is not meant for me. Because I was reduced to your shame and a stain on your precious honor!”Jon closed his eyes for a moment. “Remember the hunt last year, the one where I missed and my arrow barely grazed the deer’s leg? I wanted to let him go. Do you remember what you said to me then?” 

Ned frowned trying to remember but nothing came up. 

“You said: _he will live but what kind of life are you giving him Jon? To be easy prey for wolves? He is already lost._ ”

Lord Stark felt his heart growing hot with shame.

“You made me that damn deer… You put an arrow in me and forced me to walk around as easy prey for everyone. You have a debt to pay,” Jon raised a finger at his face. “And you will pay it! Not today, not tomorrow. Your friend can have my Throne for now. But there will be a day when I come and demand from you your pledge. You raised me, you said so yourself… You raised me to be good and I will be good. You owe me that much! You will help me win back my throne and my crown. I deserve greatness!” 

Jon turned away from him and walked closer to the woman. Lady Vera was watching Jon with something akin to respect. 

“You should go. I will meet you at the crossroad in three days. I am sure Lord Stark will be kind enough to give me a good horse, provisions and enough gold so I can contribute to our safe journey. And if I'm not there to meet you...” he turned to Ned and looked at his uncle with cold fury, “… you can burn their world to the ground.”

With that Jon walked away, leaving Ned standing there with his eyes closed. He opened them when he felt ser Arthur coming closer. The man looking at him with a small smirk. 

“Think hard about His Grace's demands, Lord Stark. This time no lap dog of yours will sneak behind me. You have no way to run from it, so make the right decision. Do what honour demands… that is, if you really have any.” 

* * *

Jory watched Jon get on his horse and was silently wondering what had happened. Lord Stark was horribly pale and quiet, riding with his gaze stuck somewhere on the horizon, not uttering one word about what transpired with the bandits. He merely said to drop the plan of chasing them and ordered their party to get back to the castle. 

Meanwhile, Jon’s face was wet with tears and the boy was even more brooding than usual. And angry. There was a cold fury surrounding him like a thick blanket. 

What did his captors do to the boy? Did they harm him? Jory felt angry too. If they did something to Jon, he would personally gut them. 

“Lad?” he asked urging his horse closer. “Are you well? Are you harmed?” he asked Jon quietly and the boy finally shook off his brooding. He looked at him and smiled gently. 

“You have always been good to me, Jory,” Jon whispered. “I shall remember that.”

Jory shook his head confused. What is going on? 

* * *

Arya was hugging him tightly and cried into his chest. “Don’t leave me, please!” she was begging. “Please, Jon!”

He closed his eyes and exhaled. “Don’t cry, sister.” He raised her head and looked at her, feeling his eyes fill with tears as well. “I will come back one day, soon. You see… I have to go on an adventure.”

“I’ll go with you!” she proposed. “I am little, I won’t take too much space, please! I’ll ask father!”

He shook his head and kneeled in front of her putting his hands on her cheeks. “You have to stay, Arya. You see, I love you so very much that I would risk everything to protect you. You are still very young, too young. My journey will be very dangerous.”

“Then don’t go! What if you get hurt in the process? You can’t get hurt Jon!” she hugged him again and cried harder. 

Robb was standing close by, head lowered and lips bitten. Jon kissed Arya’s forehead and stood up. “I will write as often as possible, there will be a letter just for you always, I promise!” he vowed and gently moved Arya aside, ruffling her hair. She shook her head, glared at him with anger and pushed him, hitting his belly with her tiny fists. Her hit was surprisingly strong. The girl was shaking gently trying to stop her tears.

“You are stupid, I hate you!” she yelled running away. 

“You broke her heart,” Robb whispered when her steps quiet down. “I don’t understand Jon…” His brother, because he will always be his brother, shook his head. “Why? Is… You don’t have to be ashamed…” Robb blushed. “If what Theon said is true, you know.”

Jon snickered. Yes, Theon was the first to suggest that bandits used Jon as their little whore and now, because he cannot stand the shame, he’s running away from Winterfell.

“I assure you Robb, my ass is as tight as always,” Jon rolled his eyes making Robb snort. 

“I am telling this to you and only you Robb…” He took a deep breath. “I have a chance to get… money and power. People who knew my mother found me and I…” Jon exhaled slowly. “I don’t want to be a bastard my whole life, a burden for all of you.”

“You have never been a burden!” Robb denied harshly but Jon only shook his head sadly. His brother lowered his gaze and slowly calmed down. 

“I have to fight for my own. I want to feel pride in my accomplishments,” Jon explained. 

Robb was watching him carefully and finally smiled broadly. “I understand. And I swear to you brother,” Robb put a hand on his shoulder. “If you need any help, tell me. I will always be by your side if you need me!”

Jon laughed loudly at his declaration. “You have no idea how much I welcome your words!” He looked Robb deep in the eyes. “Remember this, because one day I will call on you and collect!” 

The young Stark snorted shaking his head and embraced him tightly. “I wish you good fortune. Write to us. We will all terribly miss you.” 

Jon nodded politely. “I have to pack…” he dragged. Robb nodded clearing his throat.

“Yes. I will make sure that your horse is well fed.”

When Jon was left alone he laid down heavily on the bed and exhaled. _What am I doing? Is it wise to trust strangers over his own family?_

“ _We have an army waiting on the Hidden Island, gold and a good plan_ ", Vera and Arthur assured him. " _Your deep friendship with Robb Stark will give you the North’s support. Perhaps even Ned Stark will feel indebted enough to support you. With him will come Riverrun. Next, we will bring chaos to this land and amidst this chaos you will rise.”_

They had been planning his reign for the last fifteen years. His reign. Should he believe them? 

_Yes, because they were telling you the truth, ugly and hard, while Lord Stark's motives were suspect._

He heard a knock and slowly opened his eyes. He almost groaned seeing Ned Stark standing at the entrance. He decided to stay where he was. No more bowing. 

“Are you sure?” Ned Stark asked gently , keeping his gaze lowered. “This is what you really want?”

Jon slowly sat up and waved his fingers. Lord Stark sat next to him on his hard bed. Jon only now realized it’s the first time the man who called himself his father, came to his room. 

“There will be war if you say yes.”

“Yes…” Jon said slowly. “I…” Jon shook his head. “I am still asking myself how I want my life to look.”

“And what comes to your mind?”

“That I don’t want it to look like you made it.”

Ned lowered his head and rubbed his forehead. “When I held you in my arms that day I was looking down at my sister and saw how desperate she was. She was begging me to keep you safe. She cried for her Dragon and I realized that the war was for nothing. I…” 

Lord Stark cleared his throat and Jon turned away from him when he noticed a single tear traveling down Ned’s cheek. This was Eddark Stark, he should not cry and Jon couldn’t stand the sight of his tears.

“She said that you're a trueborn Targaryen and my heart was ripped open. The man I thought to be my brother, committed a terrible crime, slaughtering children and laughing over it. I knew Robert would have ended you as well. You were so tiny and quiet. You looked like Lyanna, fragile and innocent,” Lord Stark whispered gently. “I couldn’t leave you alone. I was really trying my best, believe me. I thought… I have been doing well but I understand now I just hadn't thought it through too well. I wanted you to have a good life but I was too big of a coward to give you my name. And I am sorry.” He looked at Jon sadly. “I am sorry that I have hung you between two worlds and slowly ripped you apart.” 

“I told you I am grateful. I had everything I needed…”

“Stop it,” Ned patted his cheek lightly. “You have always been too good, just like her. Strong soul and gentle heart… You had everything but respect and real freedom. That’s what Lyanna had always been fighting for - to be understood and respected, but we all were too blinded to see that. My father and brother, me, Robert… Maybe if we had, we wouldn’t have suffered so much.” 

Ned stood up clearing his throat. “Learn who you are first. You are going to fight in the game that many before you lost. You have family here and the moment you want to come back Jon, we will welcome you back. I have been thinking for the last three days and…” Lord Stark suddenly took a knee in front of him and gripped Jon’s hands tightly, looking the boy straight in the eyes. “When time will come I will help you, I promise that.”

“Father…” Jon whispered feeling tears filling his eyes. “I…”

“Shh,” Ned soothed embracing him. Jon felt a wave of sobs shaking his body and he closed Lord Stark in a tight embrace. “Everything will be fine. I will not make the same mistake…” He moved away from Jon and looked him in the eyes again. “I once chose Robert over my sister. This time I will not chose him over my son!” 

Later on, when Jon was seated on his horse, he was filled with resolve. The first stage of Vera and Arthur’s plan was a success. Ned Stark gave him the North. 

He raised his hand and smiled at his family. Arya waved back tentatively, clearly still mad. Bran was a bit confused and sad, while Robb was smiling. Sansa and Lady Catelyn looked bored and clearly were dreaming of being somewhere else. Lord Stark nodded to him simply, his eyes telling Jon everything he needed to know, showing a support that Jon required. 

Jon turned back on his horse riding through the Winterfell’s gate, leaving his old life and starting the fight for a new one . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked this chapter, please leave a comment or kudos!  
> What do you think about Jon's reaction? Was it reasonable?  
> Any thoughts about Arthur?  
> 
> 
> Big thanks to amazing Queen_Lyanna for beta-reading!


	4. Merry way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and his companions are traveling toward the Hidden Island. The journey is far from peaceful though. Jon is forced to decide who he can really trust. Eventually, Lady Vera revels a secret that changes everything.

Two lonely riders were waiting for him at the crossroad leading to White Harbor. Jon took a deep breath and grasped his reins a bit tighter. Deep in his heart he knew that his decision, bold and maybe a little reckless as it was, was the right one. It didn’t change the fact that he was still nervous.

Ser Arthur Dayne raised his hand in greeting, looking at him with a pleased gaze. If he was completely honest, Jon was screaming a bit on the inside, like an excited child every time he thought about how the famous Sword of the Morning was going to guard him. And maybe even train him? He swore to himself to ask for that one day. 

Lady Vera was watching him with her ever present smirk. Surrounded by trees covered with a thin layer of snow, clad in her dark robs, she was even more pale than the last time he saw her. By the gods, he really did a number on her face. Her nose and area under her eyes were purple from his earlier blow. How is he going to redeem himself for that? 

“Are you ready, Your Grace?” Ser Arthur asked and Jon looked back, in the distance to where Winterfell sat. 

“Yes,” he said. “We should go. We need to find a good place to rest before nightfall.” 

Jon considered the journey toward White Harbor as the greatest adventure he has ever experienced. He spent the whole time nagging Ser Arthur with constant questions about his mother and father, to which the knight answered truthfully. 

“I don’t understand… how could they have been so stupid as to not inform more people about their plans?!” Jon asked finally, angry at his parent’s recklessness. 

Ser Arthur sighed heavily. “They did. Your mother had left a letter at Riverrun. When Brandon Stark came to the capitol demanding the Crown Prince’s, and Rickard Stark came to retrieve his heir head, it was clear that they never received it. And then….” Arthur paused. “And then it was too late to do anything about it. Rhaegar's explanations would have changed nothing in the eyes of Eddard Stark, it was no longer only about Lady Lyanna, it was a matter of overpowering a mad man sitting on the Throne.”

Jon tightened his lips in an angry line, thinking hard about Arthur’s interpretations. “Have you ever suspected some foul play? At Riverrun, I mean?” he asked carefully. Arthur shook his head slowly, his expression grim.

“Many times, Your Grace, but all I could come up with would prove that the war had been started because of a bitter boy with a broken heart and wounded pride. Maybe that is all that matters in the end. Love and broken hearts.” 

“Explain please,” Jon asked him simply. He stewed long over the information that Ser Arthur revealed. 

Petyr Baelish. Could it be that his love toward Catelyn, his hurt pride and thirst for revenge, was a harbinger of this entire nightmare? The reason why Jon would have never met his real parents and Ned Stark was deprived of his closest family? If one day he learns the truth for certain, he will be the one to take Littlefinger’s head, he swore silently. 

“I meant to ask…” Jon glanced at Lady Vera, who was riding ahead of them. “Why now? I have been in Winterfell for many years? So why now?”

Arthur Dayne tensed visibly on his horse, his violet eyes staring at the back of the woman in front of them. “It is complicated…” he said slowly. 

“Our journey will be long, we have plenty of time,” Jon answered cheekily, causing a small smirk to appear on the knight's lips. 

“It took me over six moons to recover enough to walk properly and gain enough strength. Another three since I was able to talk and even though…” Arthur pointed to his neck, “my voice will never truly come back to me. I am afraid I will never again bellow any battle commands.”

“Don’t worry,” Jon said with fierceness. “I will.” Arthur smiled broader hearing his smartass remark.

“I hope so… I tried to run. One year had passed and one night I sneaked from my house, stole a boat and a sharp enough dagger. I had a plan to sail to White Harbor, then travel to Winterfell and try to sneak inside, as a servant. Later, I would have stolen you and moved south, to Dorne, to my family at Starfall.”

“No offence, ser, but it’s more an outline than a plan.”

Arthur snorted. “I had been sailing for three days and I was sure that I was heading in the right direction only to dock back in the marina at the Hidden Island. She stood there, with guards and smugly informed me that her guest can leave the Island only with a guide. And then…” Arthur gritted his teeth “… she used that cursed powder on me. When I woke up for real, I found out she had been intoxicating me for almost three more moons. I tried again and again, I failed. Forgive me, My King… I eventually just stopped trying.”

Jon’s eyes grew big. “She kept you a prisoner!” he exclaimed before he was able to stop himself, which caused Lady Vera to stop her horse and turn to them. 

Jon blushed under Ser Arthur’s scolding stare. 

“I was trying to stop him from ruining everything,” the woman snickered. She turned her horse and lazily walked closer to them. “He had been trying many times to run from us, too stubborn to realize that’s not the right approach. Eventually, he learnt, didn’t you Arthur?” Vera looked at Arthur with a look that made Jon’s stomach recoil. His first Kingsguard was holding the reins of his horse in a tight grip, staying silent. “Give me time and I will explain everything. Trust me, we need you to sit on the Throne, with all men united against the true foe.” 

“What foe?” Jon frowned. 

“Death,” she answered, riding away and Jon looked at Arthur expecting some elaboration but the man simply shook his head.

“Don’t worry, your Grace,” he whispered when Vera was out of earshot. “I still have a plan of my own.” 

* * *

They were all weary and tired. Jon’s muscles were aching from sleeping on the cold ground three nights in the row. So, when the small town came into view and Ser Arthur promised that tonight they would sleep at the inn, Jon was ecstatic. 

“Do you think that there would be a chance for a bath?” he asked with a tiny voice. He knew it was maybe too much to ask, but he smelled. Truth be told Arthur stank too. Perhaps that’s why Lady Vera has been keeping her distance from them. 

“I shall organize it for you, Your Grace,” Arthur promised with a small nod of his head. Jon blushed, feeling suddenly silly. What was he? A spoiled rich lady? 

“No… forget it. I don’t want to cause problems. It is not necessary. And please, I have asked many times, do not call me that. Especially now, when we’ll stay among people,” he mumbled knowing that his ears grew red with embarrassment. Arthur simply smiled, not saying a word. 

When they walked to the inn Jon felt his instincts coming to life. The place was dirty and crowded, all matter of people sitting around, most of them glaring at them from over their cups. And many were leering at Lady Vera in the way that was making Jon uncomfortable. Jon found himself coming closer to her and gently putting his hand on her back. She looked back at him and smirked.

“Their looks are annoying. I guess that even my massacred nose doesn’t scare them,” she said with amusement. 

Jon blushed walking behind Arthur, keeping Vera securely between them. One man, tall and hairy as a bear said something and his companions started to laugh rudely. The man raised his cup and sent Vera a kiss. Jon was getting anxious and barely contained a glare, sneaking even closer to the tiny woman. 

“I am yet to apologize properly for hitting you. I am sorry, I truly thought…”

“Forget it. I would have come for a neck with my teeth, if I woke up in your place. It will heal and a small bump will give my nose character.”

Her answer was light and sounded honest, what only made Jon blush more. “I am really sorry,” he repeated. Vera’s pale eyes shone dangerously. 

“Would you feel better if I demand something from you for that offence?” Jon hesitated, but only momentary, before nodding. “Don’t run with him,” she said barely above a whisper, her green eyes were boring right into his soul. “Believe me, we can give you more that an uncertain alliance Arthur hopes to achieve in Dorne. I have been born to help you, please, trust me.” With that she moved away and hooked her arm in Arthur’s elbow. “Do they have a room for us, husband?” she asked loudly. “Our son needs some rest.”

Jon was walking behind them to the room upstairs, not knowing what to do with her strange words. 

* * *

Despite Jon’s protests, Arthur went out to organize a basin, the and boy almost died from embarrassment. He didn’t want be a burden. They have been sharing the same room, with two small beds and a tiny window. Place was foul and dirty and truth be told, Jon would rather sleep in the woods. He regretted coming here, especially when he noticed Vera grimacing and rapidly patting her pillow. 

“What are you doing?” he asked surprised. She looked at him, her face the most scared he has seen yet. 

“My pillow is moving,” she said in a deathly quiet whisper. Jon felt his eyes growing big. 

“Don’t be so dramatic…” Arthur groaned pushing a basin to the middle of the room and Jon quickly ran to help him. “A few bugs are not going to kill you.”

“Oh really?” she asked sarcastically. “What if they take shelter in our King’s hair and… “ she gasped suddenly, with mock horror “we will be forced to shave him bald?!”

Jon couldn’t stop himself, he snorted at her exaggerated tone while Arthur rolled his eyes. 

Vera stood up and to his surprise started to touch his skull. “Not bad,” she said eventually. “Nice shape. Maybe baldness will suit you.” Jon pushed her hand lightly away and tried to fight down a smile. “But what if louses will attack different hair?” she asked seriously, her eyebrows raised. “It can affect with more than just hair being cut!” She made a scissors gesture with her fingers. “And then, we shall say goodbye to a Targaryen dynasty forever!” Jon laughed loudly and even Arthur cracked a small smile. “You are laughing now,” she grumbled opening her small chest. “But I am not going to put ointments on your private parts bitten by the bugs.” 

Still amused, Jon helped to fill a basin with water, barely lukewarm and not at all clean, and waited for his companions to turn around. He get in quickly and washed himself at record speed with a tiny piece of soap that Vera get from her chest. 

“We will eat something on the morrow and travel further. Four more days and we will get a ship. You will see,” Vera said excitedly, sitting on a small chair and looking outside the dirty window. “My people will be overjoyed when you meet them!” Arthur made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort but Jon was already drying himself and paid him no mind. 

They had fought a bit over a bedding arrangements. Vera insisted that Jon should sleep with her, so she could warm his young body but her idea was quickly rejected, before it sounded out fully. Ser Arthur said flatly that they were taking beds – separately, which he underlined coldly - and he would stay on the chair, guarding the door. In a hushed whisper he informed Jon that Vera is going to constantly try and pick on him. His biggest advice was to ignore her altogether. 

Jon still felt bad when he was getting into bed, while Arthur put a chair in the middle of the room.

“There will be trouble,” Ser Arthur murmured, sitting on the chair and putting his sword across his knees. “Thank her for that, for flashing the gold for everyone to see,” he grumbled which only caused Vera to roll her eyes. 

Resigned and a bit tired from their constant bickering, Jon laid down and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He was sure that only seconds passed when he was awoken by some noises. Before he sat up on the bed fully it was over though and he witnessed the last man being pierced by Ser Arthur’s sword. Jon sat stunned, looking at four men lying dead on the floor. 

“What happened?” he whispered with fear.

“They got in hoping to rob us,” Lady Vera said, not even rising from her bedding. She was still on her side, her back to the whole commotion. “Probably the worst idea in their lives…” She groaned and sat turning to the famous knight. “Did you have to be so loud?”

Ser Arthur was just silently cleaning his bloodied sword. “I am sorry to disturb you, Your Grace,” he said shocking Jon even further. “I am afraid we are being forced to move on already. If you want to sleep a bit more though, we can…”

“No,” Jon interrupted him flatly. He was not going to sleep in the same room where butchered men were decorating the floor. “We should pack and leave as soon as possible. Before someone realizes what transpired here.”

And they did, Jon still shaken and dazed. 

“Impressive, right?” Vera asked him lightly, leaning closer from her horse, when they left the small town and four corpses behind them. “Four men ended within seconds. Loudly, unfortunately but otherwise cleanly. Don’t worry, as long as Arthur is close by, you will be fine.”

Jon didn’t doubt that, thinking that the stories he heard about the famous Sword of the Morning were false. Arthur Dayne was far more deadly than any tales described him to be. The boy was happy to have him on his side.

* * *

“How can I help?” Jon asked when they dismounted their horses. They had left the inn in the middle of the night and now it was close to dawn. Ser Arthur only smiled.

“You don’t have to do anything, Your Grace. Just rest a bit.”

Jon noticed Lady Vera rolling her eyes. “Help me with the wood,” she said and Jon walked with her dutifully, ignoring a dirty glare the knight threw in her direction. Lady Vera was piling some branches on his arms and eventually Jon decided to break the silence. 

“Ser Arthur seems to be very…” he hesitated.

“Overprotective?” Vera suggested with a smirk. 

“Yes. I feel strange when he is so... caring,” Jon eventually murmured.

“He’s been waiting to have you around for fifteen years.” Vera raised one of the branches, looked over it carefully and eventually threw it away. They were walking further away from their small camp. “It has been his obsession. I cannot even describe his guilt over the fact he didn’t best Ned Stark in combat that day.”

“It wasn’t just combat, right? I heard how bitter he was while talking with Lord Stark.”

“No.” Vera gave him a few more twigs. He could now barely see where they were going. “Howland Reed stabbed him from behind and 'Honorable' Ned Stark cut him open when Arthur was already down. With Dayne’s family sword, no less.”

Jon lowered his gaze thinking over her story. “It is not how people describe it. I have always heard that Lord Stark defeated the Sword of the Morning in single combat.”

“No one can defeat Arthur in single combat. He is something beyond human,” Vera stated simply, with conviction.

“You two seem to be in a bit of a complicated relationship,” Jon risked stating. Vera turned to him and slowly raised her eyebrow. 

“He is angry, always angry. I have stopped his approach toward you many times. For that he will always blame me. For the fact that you have spent many years living a worse life than you should have. He doesn’t know about Catelyn Stark’s behavior and punishments though and I am asking you to not tell him. I know for certain I won’t be able to stop him from ending her at the first opportunity. ”

Jon stopped and waited for Vera to look at him fully. “How do you know that she mistreated me?”

“Byron,” she simply shrugged. Suddenly many events started to make sense for him. Cook’s nightly visits, smuggled snacks and taking care of his well-being. And the fact that the man encouraged him to go with Robb. “I thought about ordering him to poison her but it would be risky. Robb Stark has always been loyal to you and seemed like a good boy, despite his mother’s influence. And motherless boy's could take a turn for the worst, so I decided to wait… She was never aggressive.”  
Jon must have tensed a bit or changed something in his stance because Vera paused and looked at him carefully. “Wasn’t she?” 

Jon shrugged, trying desperately to look nonchalant.   
“She hit me… once, maybe twice. It was nothing.” He knew that the ship had already sailed when Vera’s expression started to turn stormy. “Truly.”

“Would you mind to elaborate?” she asked calmly but Jon gulped seeing her furious eyes.

“I barely remember the first time…”

“Now, we both know you are lying,” she interrupted him and Jon gripped the branches a bit harder, passing her. 

“I was five, maybe six,” he admitted after a long moment of silence. “She was always so mad at me, while hugging Robb close to her all the time. I called Lord Stark father, Robb did too… Well, she had to be my mother, right?”  
Vera pushed a few more branches into his arms and he was glad she was no longer looking him in the eyes. “I decided to apologize, for what exactly, I am not sure. I couldn’t know that it was my mere existence that was offensive to her. So I picked her a few flowers and went to apologize…” He paused for a fleeting moment.   
“Needless to say, she was neither pleased nor forgiving. Calling her mummy was a bad move.” He almost felt his cheek prickle again at the memory. The slap wasn’t the worst part though, her words were far more painful. 

“Forget what I said earlier. That ugly trout shouldn’t be afraid of Arthur, she has me to be worried about.” 

Jon laughed lightly hearing the venom in Vera’s tone. “I am sure you can come up with something nasty.” He said trying to lighten up the mood a bit.  
“You really have everything planned…” he murmured when they were coming back to the camp. “But why have you been waiting so long? Wouldn’t it be easier to install me on the throne when the country was still divided? There were still many loyal to Prince Rhaegar,” Jon fished, really curious.

“You haven’t been ready,” she said simply. Jon opened his mouth to ask what she meant when the crack of a branch stopped him. He tensed, turning his head and looking in the darkness. 

“Vera, wait…” he whispered and the woman froze, alarmed by the urgency in his voice. She looked at him and he noticed that she tensed as well. It was clear that something or someone was watching them. Jon relaxed his hold on the branches, to be ready to reach for his sword as quickly as possible.

“We should go to Ser Art…” he started but before he was able to finish his sentence, the giant shape jumped from the darkness and knocked Vera over.

Jon dropped the wood and unsheathed his sword, right in time for another shape to collide with him. He fell over under the weight of the attacker. He grimaced smelling their foul breath and tilted his blade just enough to stab the man. It was a small wound but made the giant man loosen his hold on him and Jon used it to his advantage, freeing his other hand and punching the man with his fist. 

Jon has always been quick and before his attacker could stand up, the boy was already waiting for him with his sword raised. He glanced at Vera and noticed that the other man was sitting on her, clearly choking the tiny woman. She was trying to reach for his face but with her small body under such a brute, she had no chance to win. Not good.

His opponent screamed and surged forward, slashing at Jon with a big axe. He barely avoided the blow and quickly twirled aiming for the man’s belly. His sword pierced the furs and his tissue with surprising ease. Jon noticed a fleeting shock on the man’s face and felt his heart freeze momentarily. 

_I just killed a man_ … he realized.

He brushed his shock as quickly as possible, because he knew that Vera was in a far worse situation. Jon screamed, racing forward and stabbed the man in the back, causing him to fall over onto Vera.

“I guess I am no better than lord Stark…” he murmured, pushing the bleeding man aside and pulled her up. She was coughing violently, struggling for breath. She was waving her hand though, pointing behind his back. The third attacker was running at him but before the man could get any closer, Ser Arthur appeared out of nowhere and a second later their enemy was down. 

Jon exhaled, kneeling next to Vera. “Are you fine?” he asked worried but she answered him with a glare, silently saying that ‘of course she isn’t!’. 

“Are you fine, Your Grace?” Arthur put a hand on his shoulder. Vera’s glare only deepened. She rolled her eyes and pointed at her neck, clearly trying to signal where his concern should be directed. 

“Yes, Ser Arthur, thank you… What just happened?”

“The remainders of the group from the inn, I assume. Their clothing is very similar. Three more lay at our camp… I am sorry you had to wait so long.”

Jon could only shake his head in disbelief. “It is fine. I believe Lady Vera needs something to drink.”

He helped her stand up and noticed Arthur smiling at her, with eyes full of mischief. “I believe our trip forward won’t be half bad, Your Grace,” the knight said, his eyes fixed on Vera still.

“What do you mean?”

“We will hopefully be able to travel in silence. Injuries of the throat don’t inspire one to pointless talk.”

Jon barely contained his laugh when Vera opened her mouth outraged and pushed Ser Arthur on the chest. 

* * *

Jon has been building up the courage to ask Ser Arthur since he left Winterfell. Now, finally, after the relatively good night sleep he decided to do it. Taking a deep breath he came over to the man and cleared his throat. The knight instantly put down his whetstone and sat straighter.

“Can I help you with something, Your Grace?”

“Jon is plenty enough, Ser Arthur…” the boy said meekly, feeling like a silly child. The knight smiled more broadly.

“I have been waiting to utter those words for the last fifteen years. If you allow, Your Grace, I would like to savor them as often as possible.” His explanation left Jon pretty much speechless, so he only cleared his throat.

“Well, I guess if you put it like that... Just, please, don’t slip while we are among outsiders,” Jon said, trying to sound somehow royal, but he only felt ridiculous. “The events from yesterday made me wonder about my abilities. Actually, I’ve been thinking, if I could…” This is a simple question Jon, get it over with!

“Spar with you?” Ser Arthur suggested with raised eyebrows and a kind smile. Jon puffed a deep breath.

“Yes,” he said simply. “I have been very nervous to ask you about that. My skills are obviously incomparable to yours and by incomparable, I mean pathetic beyond reason.” 

Ser Arthur tilted his head and roared with laughter. Jon patiently waited for the famous knight to stop making fun of him. “Your Grace, I would be honored to spar with you. Today and every day you will want to.” The knight grew somber after a moment and looked Jon deep in the eyes. “They were your first, I assume?”

Jon gulped knowing very well what Arthur was asking about. Yes, they were the first men he ever killed. He nodded simply, hoping that the man would leave the topic. Honestly, Jon wasn’t sure what he felt. It was either them or him and Vera. He should feel worse, but somehow he accepted his actions. Ser Arthur patted his arm hard. 

“I can see you understand your duty… I am glad.” The knight stood up and gestured for Jon to follow him. “Let’s work on your technique, Your Grace. The spirit of a warrior you already have.”

“We don’t have tourney sword,” Jon mumbled. “I hope you will go easy on me,” he half joked. Ser Arthur looked at him with seriousness though.

“One day you will march into battle and then, I hope you will be as deadly as I am. Needless to say, I care too much for you to go easy on you, Your Grace.” Ser Arthur raised his sword and urged Jon to take a fighting stance. “Get ready!”

When Jon finally sat down next to Vera and took her offered water he was wet with sweat and breathing heavily. No amount of fatigue could have stopped him from grinning broadly and feeling joyous. “Legendary Sword of the Morning has sparred with me,” he told the foreign woman with excitement, feeling like a child that was given a ton of sweets. 

“Uhm,” Vera said, slowly raising her eyebrows. “Did you win?”

Jon snorted. “Gods no, he wiped the floor with me!” The woman chuckled and looked over at Arthur, who was watching them with a proud smile. 

“Was he any good?” she asked the knight and Jon leaned over, waiting for his answer. He knew he wasn’t, Arthur Dayne had been clearly bored during their fight. 

“He will get there,” the knight said diplomatically, making Vera burst into a fit of giggles and causing Jon to blush furiously.

* * *

They were a day from a White Harbor, getting ready for their final night’s rest on Westerosi soil. Jon was eating dried meat and sipping on hot herbs, pondering on his future, when a sudden commotion startled him. He looked up and noticed Lady Vera falling over, a sword pointed at her neck. Ser Arthur stood above her, a small smirk at his lips. 

“Your Grace,” Arthur said, not looking at him. “Please, collect our things. Sadly, we are parting ways with Lady Vera.”

Jon paused, frozen in place. True, she drugged him, she kept Ser Arthur a prisoner on the Hidden Island. So far she presented no viable explanations as to why her people want to help him. There was no sustainable explanation for her and her people’s loyalty. But she had an army waiting for him, even Arthur admitted that. 

Don’t run with him, she warned him at the inn and somehow her words were ringing loud and clear in his head. 

Jon gulped.

“Your Grace,” Ser Arthur repeated. “I have my doubts too, but trust me. We will be better on our own!” 

“Well, Arthur…” Vera said slowly. “I would lie saying I haven’t thought about being pierced by your sword. But in my thoughts it has always been in the metaphorical kind of way,” she said almost seductively, which only caused Ser Arthur to push the tip of his blade on her neck harder. 

Jon was conflicted. He quickly weighed all pros and cons. “Your Grace!” Arthur urged him again and Jon exhaled and eventually he decided to run for their bags. He was attaching them to the horse when he realized his hands were shaking unnaturally. Full of bad feelings he turned around, leaning on the horse and looked at Lady Vera. The tea she gave him earlier did taste funny. A bit different than before. While Ser Arthur was still holding her down and glaring at the woman, her attention was solely on Jon. She was smiling and Jon understood. 

“It is your specialty…” he groaned feeling weak. Ser Arthur moved his gaze toward him and Jon noticed a cold fury on the man's face.

“You bitch,” Arthur hissed at Vera.

“What did you expect?” she rolled her eyes. “It is the only reasonable place where you could ditch me. I have known you, Arthur. Believe me, we are the only way Jon can get his throne. Dorne won’t help you yet! He needs leverage and we will give him just that!”

Jon closed his eyes briefly feeling dizzy. The knight cursed and moments later Jon felt his strong arms leading him over to the fallen tree. 

“I should kill you for that alone,” Arthur said desperately. Jon groaned feeling Lady Vera taking a hold of his chin gently and putting a small vial to his lips. 

“Drink it, my dear, you will feel better.”

Jon gauged the potion he hoped was an antidote for whatever poison she gave him.

“I thought I am your king,” he growled. “And yet you poisoned me.”

Vera smiled apologetically. “I would never cause you any serious harm. Ser Arthur doesn’t trust me, he doesn’t trust my people. I can understand that, we have been treating him poorly. He still believes that his countrymen will support you but I know that Doran Martell is nothing but a weak man and a coward. He won’t give you his army. Worse yet, they may still see you as proof of the disgrace his beloved sister experienced."

She paused to look at Arthur. "Before you decide this is a good time to kill me…” she raised a vial and smirked at Arthur. “… he will need some more of that. You have to mix it properly.”

Vera sat next to him and Arthur and exhaled slowly. The knight was hugging him with one arm and Jon could feel his arm shaking. How much fury can one man contain? How many times has Lady Vera made this formidable warrior feel like a fool in the last fifteen years?

“I wanted to keep it a secret for now but I guess I have no other choice. Arthur is likely to stab me in my sleep next time… Jon,” she said slowly. “A dragon egg is waiting for you on the Hidden Island.”

Both him and Ser Arthur stared at the woman in shock. “Dragon egg?” Jon asked slowly.

“Yes. That’s why we have been waiting fifteen years. Not only for you to form a bond with the Heir of Winterfell but to wait for you to mature. You must be mature to hatch it.”

She clasped her hands together, clearly thinking over her next words carefully. Eventually, she reached for a log from the fire and raised it. Before Jon could stop her she thrusted it at him. Ser Arthur was quick enough, shielding him, and cursing loudly a moment later when fire grazed his hand.

“What are you doing?!” Arthur screamed, shaking with anger. 

“Move away!” Vera demanded. “Our King must see it for himself! Go on,” she urged Jon, pointing the log at him. Jon knew what she demanded and shook his head. 

“I have no Targaryen magic in me,” he said sadly.

“Try!” she said with force.

“I said…”

“You have it now! You are no child any longer, do it!” 

Jon gritted his teeth, still remembering a painful burn he got on his hand as a child. She sounded so sure of herself… He saw nothing but certainty in her gaze. She truly believed in him, almost blindly it seemed. 

The boy took a deep breath and slowly reached for the flame, only to prove to her that she’s delusional. He was moving his hand closer very slowly, waiting for any signal of pain but there was only a pleasant warmth. He saw that Arthur’s eyes were getting bigger and bigger the closer his hand sneaked to the flames. And finally after a long moment, Jon put his hand in the fire.

“Amazing. Impossible…” Arthur whispered. “Rhaegar couldn’t…” 

Jon was shocked to his core, watching the flames, and his hand secure inside it. Not burning at all.

“See?” Vera asked triumphantly. “I told you to trust me!” She was smiling broadly, showing all her teeth. “You are chosen, I knew it!” She was almost to the brink of tears from her joy. 

She threw the log away and Jon blushed furiously when she reached for his hand and kissed it. Embarrassed beyond reason he tried to yank it away. “Trust me, my King!” 

And then Jon decided that maybe he should, not knowing how big of a mistake he just made. 

* * *

“Do you need some water?” Arthur asked him softly but Jon shook his head. The rocking of the boat didn't cause him any discomfort. “Maybe you should go to your cabin and rest?” the knight asked further.

“Stop treating our king like he is a hopeless child,” Vera interrupted their peace and stopped next to him on the deck. “He is a true warrior, don’t you see? One more day and you will be home.”

Arthur didn’t answer, since the night of their fight he has uttered not one word in her direction. He was acting like Lady Vera was invisible. 

“What is the Hidden Island like?” Jon asked her but it was Ser Arthur who answered. 

“It’s a shithole.”

Vera glared at him. “Now, that is not the truth. You are biased.” The woman smiled almost dreamily. “We had time to grow and develop, at least when we had no need to worry about Westeros’ problems."

She sighed, "Every person on our Island is educated and taken care of. We have a nice marina, markets and a thousand bridges. You will surely enjoy our library. It is not big but the books are unique. We have many pieces from Old Valyria, you will learn everything about dragons from them.”

Jon wasn’t so sure about that. “You said that the egg is warm and alive but how can you be sure that I will manage to hatch it?”

“You will,” she said with certainty. Jon looked at Ser Arthur. The knight looked almost as unconvinced as Jon felt. 

“Theoretically… If I do hatch a dragon, there is still no assurance that the beast will grow. The last dragon was the size of a cat,” Jon argued further. 

“All is going to be well,” Vera said stubbornly. 

“Still…”

“It will be well!” she said with force, her eyes shining with anger. “Even if the dragon is to be small, this is going to be a living creature. People will see that and they will know you are the Blood of the Dragon. No one will deny your claim.”

“True….” Jon said slowly. “But what if the dragon does grow big and I am unable to control him? What if it takes off, burning cities and murdering innocents the world over?”

Vera looked down and for a fleeting moment he noticed something akin to worry in her gaze. She quickly smiled though, before he could precisely consider her expression. “You will, you must. It has been seen. You will be fine!” 

Jon couldn’t brush off the feeling that she avoided his gaze though. She looked almost… guilty?

With that she left them, giving Jon many things to think over. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts about the troubled relationship between Vera and Arthur? Will Jon just magically manage to hatch a dragon? 
> 
> Please, leave a comment and share your opinion!
> 
> Big thanks to Queen_Lyanna for beta reading 😊


	5. Warm Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon finally arrives at the Hidden Island. Despite a very warm welcome from its inhabitants there is still a very unpleasant surprise awaiting him.
> 
> PLEASE, READ THE NOTES AT THE END OF THE CHAPTER!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Queen_Lyanna for beta reading the first part of this chapter and to Kellersab for emergency reading the rest!  
> And big thanks to Wulfkin17 for taking care bit the final version of this chapter!

_We are going to crash_ , Jon thought when their boat was maneuvering between sharp rocks hidden amidst the fog. Their party was trying to dock their ship at the Hidden Island’s marina, as they had been for over an hour already. 

Jon was baffled when out of nowhere their ship got covered by a thick blanket of wet fog and suddenly they were blinded. He looked up at Arthur who was standing next to him, grim with an almost haunted look on his face.

“It is too late to back off, Your Grace,” he informed in a sad voice.

“Those shores must be impenetrable…” Jon whispered while watching their crew taking over oars and starting to lead the ship slowly in a complicated pattern.

“Without a guide, surely. They have some ships that sail further from the shores and lead merchants inside. But yes, Your Grace. No ship of outsiders would get in. I can’t imagine breaching such natural defenses.”

Jon leaned over the deck and looked down, grimacing at the sharp rocks peeking from the dark water. He was getting even more worried. Arthur was right, there was no turning back. Once inside, there was no easy way out.

“Don’t be afraid.” He turned around hearing Vera’s calm voice. “We know these waters like our own hands. We will be fine."

“No wonder no one has ever conquered you,” Jon whispered, glad that she interpreted his expression like that. In truth, he was rather more worried about becoming a potential prisoner.

“Actually, there is one wonder,” Arthur added with his eyebrows raised in challenge. “You cannot be attacked from the sea or land… But how did you manage to fight back Aegon’s attack from the air?”

Vera only smiled enigmatically.

“Perhaps he decided it is not worth the hassle. Look!” she put a hand on Jon’s arm, effectively redirecting his attention. She pointed at something in the distance and felt his mouth hanging open in shock. The Hidden Island came into view, dark and almost menacing, with sharp rocky cliffs and mountains covered with a gentle layer of snow. The fog was slowly drifting away and Jon followed with his eyes over the city, located at the shore. 

The edge of the land was illuminated with a thousand points of light and more and more were lighting up.

“What is it?” Jon asked, baffled.

“A welcome,” Vera smiled softly. “They are lighting your way to them. Come!” She hooked her hand in his elbow and urged him to come with her. “Let’s dress you up in something nicer. First impressions are everything.”

* * *

Jon clasped his hands together to stop them from shaking. The humidity in the air was somehow chilling him more than the far colder air of the North. Vera clad him in heavy black fur and he was thankful for that, for he was sure that without it he would be shaking like a leaf in a heavy breeze. 

She was right that the lights were put on as a manner of greeting. He looked around surprised at how bright it was, even though it was almost dusk. The marina was surrounded by hundreds of small stone houses, in every window lights were shining brightly. 

Jon looked at the gathering of people waiting for him on the docks and further down, on the streets. Most of their clothing was dark and Jon noticed a shocking similarity in their appearance. The pale skin and dark hair looks were prevalent, which shouldn’t be much of a surprise, considering that the Hidden Island was secluded and its people rarely mingled with outsiders. 

_Most of them are probably related by some means_ , he thought amusedly.

A group of six men walked closer to Jon and bowed to him, somewhat stiffly. People of the Hidden Island were no kneelers after all, Vera informed him. And yet, they were bowing to him now.

“Welcome, my King,” the man in the middle said in a surprisingly gentle, almost feminine voice. “We have been expecting your arrival for a very long time.”

“Thank you for your amazing greeting,” Jon answered, still looking around and smiling at the thousands of flickering lights. “Please, don’t bow to me. Your people have been proud of their freedom and I am yet to prove I deserve such respect.”

The man stood straighter and glanced at the man on his right, who seemed to be surprised by Jon’s answer. “You must be Adam, Lady Vera’s brother?”

The other man cleared his throat and nodded politely.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“She did a great service for me,” Jon continued deciding to omit something that he called in his mind ‘the poisoning incident’. “I am grateful that you sent her.” 

For a fleeting moment, Adam’s face darkened but he smiled broadly almost instantly. “She told me a lot about your lands. I would gladly see more of it for myself…” Jon looked back at Ser Arthur, whose gaze was fixed on the Island’s council with clear disdain. “Perhaps on the morrow?”

Ser Arthur informed Jon that during the last fifteen years he had been detained in the city at the shore, never allowed to wander further. Jon wanted to see everything for himself. And he wanted Arthur to learn about the Island’s landform. Just in case.

“Of course, Your Grace,” Adam hesitated briefly. “Perhaps we shall start with getting you familiar with our fortifications.” Jon perceived Arthur’s shocked face. Vera’s brother smiled a bit and the boy noticed that his gaze paused on the knight briefly. “Which we of course have… Hidden, even better than the Island itself. Please, join us at the feast in the main residence of the council. People are very eager to meet you.”

Jon nodded. “Lead the way then, my Lord.”

* * *

To say he was warmly welcomed, would be like saying nothing. On his way from the marina to the residence located in the middle of the city, Jon shook hundreds of hands and received even more bows. The people's behavior was nothing like those from Westeros. If they believe him to be their King… 

Needless to say, no commoner of Westeros would feel bold enough to just walk over and shake hands with his King. Yet here they did. Common people were coming over, introducing themselves. 

Roy, the merchant. Karmin, the baker. Alys, the midwife. Arte, the scholar. It was going on and on and soon all faces and names blurred into one.

Ser Arthur looked ready to explode when people surrounded Jon in a tight circle, every person trying to touch him in one way or another. The young king was sure that his protective instincts were urging the knight to just deliver a few blows on the pushy people. It was clear that no one meant him any harm though. Jon was smiling broadly and tried to engage the people with small talk as much as possible. But when suddenly, one of the women pushed a small boy into Jon’s arm, Ser Arthur had had enough. He intercepted the child midair and handed it back over to its mother.

“Everyone, take a step back!” Arthur said as loudly as his hurt vocal cords allowed him. “His Grace needs more space. There could be a bloody assassin among you!” 

Every person there seemed to be offended by Arthur’s bold suggestion but, one by one, they started to back off a bit and Jon was finally able to take a deep breath. The young king smiled at the woman, who was holding her son to her chest and was currently throwing Arthur a venomous glare.

“Your son is a wonderful boy, I can see he will be a strong man one day,” Jon praised and the woman smiled broadly almost instantly. 

When he finally sat behind the table he was ready to fall over from exhaustion. “It was crazy,” he murmured to Arthur, who took a place next to him.

“I warned you they are fanatics, Your Grace.”

Yes, he did. But the reason behind their devotion was yet to be revealed. 

“Eat and drink!” Vera appeared out of nowhere putting a hand on his shoulder. “Tonight we celebrate.”

Jon looked around from his place at the head table, at the hundreds of people of different status, gathered around and laughing happily. Yes, they all were glad he was here. Deciding to worry tomorrow Jon toasted the people with a raise of his goblet, who were obviously his people now, and was answered by loud cheers. 

He would be lying if he said he didn’t like this strange devotion. 

* * *

The next day was a blur of activities. More people were introduced and Jon received a tour around the Island. There was, in fact, a castle... Hidden among the rocks and blended in with a mountain. In a dim light it would be completely invisible, during the daytime it was barely distinctive.

“Amazing…” Jon admitted.

“It is habitable but, I assure you that the city and main residence offers more comforts. If you would like to, we can move you there of course.”

 _His castle… It was ridiculous_. “No, thank you, Adam. I would rather stay in the city, know your people better.”

The Islander’s Lord looked pleased with his answer. They were walking down to the city when Jon paused. He looked down at the green fields with hundreds of cattle and sheep feeding on grass, when a path of burned land caught his attention.

“What happened there?” he asked, pointing at the wasteland. Adam smiled softly while Vera visibly tensed. Jon threw a look at Ser Arthur whose eyes clearly signaled that something was off.

“There was a storm last month. Lightning set fire to a haystack and the grass started to smolder,” Adam explained simply.

“Grass so wet?” Arthur asked, raising his eyebrows. “Strange.”

The lord smiled softly, his expression giving nothing away. “We cannot understand the force of nature sometimes. Later…” his attention was back on Jon. “… I would like to show you around the library. We can talk about our plans then.”

Jon nodded absently with a polite smile, unable to forget the look of dread on Vera’s face. 

* * *

“All of that, so I can defeat an army of ice monsters?” Jon couldn’t stop a soft snicker. He looked at the council gathered around him and felt that he’s been fooled beyond reason. 

Almost every member of the council was glaring at Vera openly, while the woman sat proudly, seemingly not bothered by their deadly stares.

“I assumed it would be better to clarify our reasoning for while you’re here,” she said. 

“Secured on your Island, with no way out?” Arthur asked. His tone was more resigned than angry really. Jon could understand his feelings. They were truly fanatics, believing in White Walkers and an upcoming invasion. And him, their savior. 

“The King is not our prisoner!” Vera argued back. “You can leave at any moment if you wish so. I understand that you may be hesitant but… putting our concern about the Others aside, the rest of the plan remains the same.”

“But your reasons are important. You believe I should unite the people of Westeros to defeat the Others. If there are no Others, then what motive do you have to help me, risking your people’s lives?” Jon asked sharply. “At which point are you going to decide I am not worth it? I have learned the hard way that you have deception in your veins.”

Vera seemed to be a bit ashamed by his accusation but she kept her head high. “We will not.” 

“If you allow me,” Jon stood up. “I would like to speak with my advisor in private.”

Everyone looked at each other puzzled. “With Ser Arthur Dayne. If I am your King, do me a favor and leave, all of you.” 

He waited for a dozen people to walk outside and he turned to Arthur. “I can’t believe it!” Jon exclaimed, shaking his head. 

“Ludicrous, I know Your Grace.” Ser Arthur was surprisingly thoughtful though. “Yet, I remember your father believing in prophecies, in the Promised Prince who will save the world…”

Jon sat down and looked at the knight with disbelief. “You actually believe it?”

Arthur weaved his fingers together exhaling. “The promised one was to be born under a bleeding star. There was no bleeding star while Aegon was born.”

“And there was no comet when I was born,” Jon interrupted with an eye roll.

“Actually…” Arthur smiled sadly. “A star bled that day…” Jon needed a moment to understand what the knight was suggesting. “What is my sword, if not a star? A star that was bloodied that day.”Arthur moved his hand to his chest and softly rubbed the place where Jon knew Ned Stark had slashed him. “Furthermore, I believe that they believe in it, and also think that if you show your trust in them on this...”

“… then they will remain loyal,” Jon finished. 

An army was an army. Five thousand skilled warriors according to the council. Hundreds of ships. Arthur himself had trained many people from the Island and he assured Jon that they are deadly. Great archers, discreet spies. Five thousand wasn’t much but, it was five thousand more than he had yesterday. They were brought into a war for him for a strange reason but, the reason was one that only fanatics would believe. It was safe to have fanatics. Fanatics are loyal to the end. 

Their plan to put him on the Iron Throne was solid, cunning, and so astonishing that it actually had a chance to work out.

He had already gained the North’s support as well. 

Next, they expected to forge an alliance with another Great House, using no one else but his brother Robb. Jon knew that Robb’s been developing feelings for Alys Karstark so he started to argue their point but, surprisingly, it was Ser Arthur who tried to convince him of the idea. But how to lure House Tyrell to hand over their precious Golden Rose to the North? Easy, ensure that Sansa will be betrothed to the ‘future King of Westeros’. 

The Baratheons and Starks were friends. There was a slim chance that Highgarden would be able to put Margaery Tyrell on the Throne next to Joffrey Baratheon. Not when Eddard Stark asks his friend, the King, to join their houses. 

The Tyrells used to be Targaryen loyalists after all. They had laid siege to Storm's End itself during the Rebellion. Robert had little love for the Roses. For now, making Margery wife to the good brother of the future king was the highest of their capabilities.

Jon’s head was pulsing when he thought about trying to persuade Ned Stark to follow this idea.

They even established a nice plot to put the Martells on their side. The Mountain. Ser Arthur looked like an excited child when Vera suggested that they should go to Dorne with a gift, Jon in tow, and explain to the Martells that Rheagar’s hidden son wished for revenge as much as they did. But, how exactly she imagined they would intercept Gregor Clegane was not yet clarified. Jon assumed she was putting great faith in Arthur’s abilities. Rightfully so, most likely. 

Arthur wasn’t pleased when she strongly suggested that he should also assure the Dornish that, from the very start, Elia Martell was fine with the relationship between Rhaegar and Lyanna. Despite the fact that Jon considered the lie foul did not deter her.

If everything were to go as planned, the Baratheons and Lannisters would be surrounded. The Riverlands would likely back up the North, the only uncertain force was The Vale, as Jon Arryn was the Hand of the King to Baratheon. 

But according to Vera, Jon would have his hands on a dragon by then. So, those against him would end as charred husks. As for the mysterious egg, he was informed that it will be presented to him soon. Somehow, he was in no hurry to check for himself if there was a chance to hatch it. It was strongly suggested that he should study all texts from Old Valyria beforehand. He was promised to receive help from a scholar the very next day.

It was a good plan but for their reason… Fucking White Walker invasion!?

“I am not going to say I believe them. But…” Jon pinched the bridge of his nose. “… I will swear to them that if the Others are real I will face them. I will fight them, and the people from my Kingdoms will fight as well.”

Arthur nodded with a smirk. “I assume it will be enough for now.”

* * *

Jon expected to meet a man similar to Arte the scholar, whom he met his first day on the Island. But instead, it was a pretty young girl, probably a few years older than him, that greeted him in the library. He instinctively stood a bit taller when she rose from her chair and smiled at him broadly. She was dark-haired, like almost everyone here, and her blue eyes were twinkling with mischief.

“I can see you are surprised, Your Grace,” she said gently. Jon was relieved she didn’t bow but instead outstretched her hand to him. “I am Eilin. It is an honor to meet you, I have heard a lot about you.”

Jon felt a stupid smile spreading across his face. Forget Ros from Wintertown… this was probably the prettiest girl he had ever seen. Forcing himself to school his features a bit, he smiled politely and shook her hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Eilin. Please, call me Jon. I have noticed that it is not easy to use titles among habitants of the Hidden Island.”

“We are not used to this but, I strongly believe respect towards you is warranted. If it pleases you, I shall use your name… but only in private. I am afraid Adam would hardly be so tolerant. Shall we start?”

Eilin took her job very seriously. At the end of the day Jon’s head was pounding. He was trying to remember as much of the Valyrian vocabulary as possible and was extremely embarrassed when he pronounced them incorrectly. He was stubborn and decided to not allow a bit of frustration to get the better of him though.

“Geros ilas,” he said slowly. Eilin grimaced and repeated the words, making them sound elegant and soft. He tried again.

“Good!” she praised with a beaming smile. “I am impressed.”

Jon leaned in his chair and huffed. “Why? You have been drilling me a whole day and I’ve barely learned anything”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself.” She gently put a hand on his palm and Jon gulped. Thinking about it now, he had never spent so much time alone with any woman, closed in the same room, seated so close that they were almost touching. “I am impressed with the strength of your character. Many men would be frustrated or screaming angrily at me for all this correcting. Yet you just wait patiently and respect my knowledge, not being resentful at all.”

“Why would I be?” he asked furrowing his brow.

“It’s a matter of a man’s pride…” she said with a gentle smile, very shy and sweet.

“Nonsense,” he grumbled. “You’re a teacher, I’m a student. Maester Luwin would smack my empty head for the slow progress. Let’s continue.”

They carried on their lessons of Valyria and dragons. His head was heavy from listening about blood sacrifices and ancient ways of hatching dragons, training them and riding them.

“To hatch a dragon you must sacrifice something…” He looked up at Eilin. “Another life, yes?”

She bit her lower lip nervously.

“Perhaps it won’t come to that… Once upon a time dragon eggs hatched on their own.”

“Having their mother warming them, yes, I understand. But this egg has no mother, right?” Her big blue eyes escaped somewhere sideways.

“Yes, there’s just the egg.”

Jon stood up. “Then I cannot kill someone to get it.”

“But...”

He turned to the girl.

“A dragon is an unnecessary extravagance. We should consider it more carefully.”

“Dragons can save us from the Dead!” Eilin exclaimed, panicked. He looked at her unnaturally scared face. _By the gods, how much manipulation was put into these people?_

“If there are thousands upon thousands of them, as Adam claims, one dragon won’t change too much… If they come, we will have to fight them with dragonglass, not dragon fire.” The girl looked down briefly, worrying her lower lip. "But…" she gulped audibly. "You will lead us, right?"

"Yes," he smiled. "Dragon or no dragon, I will fight back! If I have to stand against their ice king, I will…" 

Eilin was looking down, clearly worried. "You are a very unique man. It would be a shame if we lose you…" 

"Don't worry," he sat back smiling. "Till the winds of winter blow, I am not going anywhere."

Somehow, his honest assurance made the girl look at him with even greater sadness. 

* * *

A few days later, Eilin shocked him when all of a sudden she put her arms around his neck and forced their lips together. Ashamed, he gently pushed her away. He would lie saying he hadn't thought about getting closer to the girl. Her bold actions left him completely baffled though. 

"I don't understand…" she frowned gently. "Don't you like me? I can swear you are looking at me with lust. I just wanted to reward you for your hard work. " Eilin slowly moved her hands down his shoulders and arms. 

_By the gods_ … Feeling his embarrassment only growing, he sat down, hoping that his body's reaction would go unnoticed. "That's not the point…" he cleared his throat, reaching for a book and opening it. 

Eilin was surprised, her expression rang as one of confusion.

"Is it because you are a king and I am not… royal? There's a rule we shouldn't mingle?" She asked eventually in a tiny voice and Jon huffed.

"What an absurd thought!" He looked at her enraged. "It is just… This is not how it's supposed to be," he tried to explain weakly. 

The girl sat on the table in front of him and crossed her arms over her chest. "And how is it supposed to be?" 

Jon, realizing that today there will be no lesson on Valyrian grammar, closed his book and exhaled. He had no idea how to explain to her his reasons.

"Well… You are a woman and I am a man… and we shouldn't do this. We are not wed," he told her, hoping she would understand. Eilin was still looking at him with a puzzled expression.

"You have to be wed to enjoy each other's bodies?" she snorted like Jon just told her the biggest joke in the world.

"Of course…" he murmured. "If… well, you could get pregnant." He told her the last part in a hushed whisper, almost afraid that someone could listen to their conversation, even though the library was empty. 

Eilin smiled gently.

"You are silly!" She jumped down and shamelessly sat on his knees. "I am not going to let you put your cock inside me today!" Jon barely moved away because she leaned over again, trying to kiss him.

How was he going to say to her that the big problem was… everything? He has never even kissed. Even if she wants nothing but an innocent kiss, he would surely make a fool of himself… The girl squinted her eyes with suspicion and Jon knew she somehow understood. 

"You are worried… Have you ever been with a woman?" 

There was no point in lying or pretending something different. He was not ashamed of his beliefs.

"I could not… There was a chance that I would father a bastard, therefore I refrained?. I grew up as one, bringing another to the world was a horrible concept," he explained somewhat harshly. 

"A bastard is a child born out of wedlock, yes?"He nodded. "Then I guess I am a bastard too," Eilin shrugged nonchalantly. Jon opened his mouth to ask, but she continued lightly. "We don't wed here."

"What do you mean?"

"There is no point… I mean, we share everything, our lords are chosen because of their knowledge not because of their birthright. So we don't wed."

Jon needed a very long moment to understand what she just said.

"How could you not wed?"

"Simple… When we fall in love, we are with this person. We get children and if one day we don't love each other, we split." The girl snaked her arms around him and smiled cheekily. "Our life is simple. A good life. Can I show you?"

When sometime later, Ser Arthur came to the library, annoyed that Jon was late for his evening practice he froze at the entrance, truly confused as to what to do next. 

His King had a girl seated on his knees and was kissing her passionately, with a fervor that only young lovers could express. Tracing kisses over her neck and cleavage, no doubt harsh enough to leave her bruised. She was moaning though, clearly not bothered by the treatment… The knight rolled his eyes and decided to back off for now. He only hoped that his King was smart enough to understand, that sometimes a woman's love can be more dangerous than a sword. 

* * *

"Refreshed?"

Jon jumped, looking around. Vera stood in the entrance to his room, smiling gently. The boy blushed because some treacherous part of his mind was whispering to him that somehow Vera knew about other activities he committed while bathing. He couldn't stop himself though, it's been over a moon since Eilin started to… reward him for his work during lessons. Heavy petting was giving him pleasure and yet, he was left wanting and finally he came to terms with a fact that they will soon take another step into their relationship.

"Yes, the bath was great," he answered as innocently as possible. "Although the next time I can prepare the water myself. It felt strange when the elderly lady had to haul buckets for me."

"You are modest, not used to others serving you," she stated more than asked.

Jon only shrugged. "There was never a need for that… I was able to take care of myself."

"Don't be bothered with it." Vera came up closer and gestured for him to sit down on the plush chair. He was a bit confused but slowly came over. She took a comb from a shelf. 

"You don't have to…" he started when he realized she's about to brush his hair.

"Yes, I know, but I have been watching you mistreating your locks for weeks now and it hurts my soul. " He smirked at her mock outrage. "Has anyone ever brushed your hair?"

Jon shook his head. He guessed it's something that maybe a mother would do.

"The boys take care of themselves," he said simply. "I am not a pampered lady."

Vera smiled at him in the reflection of the mirror. "This is going to be our little secret," she promised softly.

He wanted to rebuff her ministration but it felt good. She was methodically untangling every lock, not even once pulling his hair. It was pleasant on a different level, especially since she didn't utter even one lewd comment. It was… comforting. 

"We can cut them the bit or tie them, so they don't get in the way during your training." 

"That would be nice," he agrees. He closed his eyes and slowly breathed in. He smirked when he heard Vera softly humming something. "What is it?"

"A song of the monster hunter," she said.

"Does it have lyrics?" 

He looked at her reflection and she was smiling. "Yes.”

"Could you sing it?" he asked, surprising even himself with this request. Vera only looked at him with mischief but soon her soft hums turned into actual words. It was a nice song, but sad and a bit scary. "Is it a lullaby of some sort?" Vera nodded, now focused on tying his hair in a tight bun on the nape of his neck. "Well, it is scarier than most of Old Nan's stories." Vera snorted at his retort and he smiled too. "I wouldn't like it to be sung to me if I were a child."

"Have you?" she asked.

"What?"

"Been sung down to sleep?" He only shook his head. "Sorry…" she said slowly. "Perhaps we should have sneaked someone for that into Winterfell." Vera put her hands on his shoulders and gently squeezed them. 

"Byron was enough," he said hoping that she heard his gratefulness. "I could have gone hungry without him." 

"Yes…" Vera suddenly averted her gaze and gently bit on her lower lip. "Do you like being here?" she asked quickly and the urgency in her eyes was somehow unsettling. He nodded simply. "Good…" He could swear that her voice wavered just a bit while saying that. "Soon, we will take another step." He felt his heart clenching at her promise. The next step meant hatching a dragon. 

He tried to smile at her but she could see that his grimace was forced and dishonest.

"You don't want it, do you?" Vera asked with her typical perceptivity. Jon sighed wondering how to put his worries into words. 

"I fear what will come up with that. Will I succeed? If I will… what would I bring to this world? And…" he blushed gently. "Somehow I feel like this is all you can care about, the people of Hidden Island. Call it childish but, I would rather have you respect me for the man that I am, not the man that can…" he paused shrugging one of his shoulders. "You know what I mean."

"Yes…" Vera drawled quietly, nodding her head slowly. "You are a good boy. I… can't imagine losing you now." She smiled at him with a gripping sadness, making Jon look up at her with surprise. 

He was beyond shocked when she gently kissed the top of his head and left. He looked around slowly watching as the door closed. He felt that something wasn't right, but he couldn't put a finger on it.

* * *

"We shouldn't…" he murmured when Eilin took the last piece of her clothing and threw it outside the hot spring. She simply smiled and dipped into the water. Jon raised his eyes, telling a short prayer and started to take off his clothes as well.

"Well, I didn't have to work very hard on persuading you," she giggled. Jon only rolled his eyes, because of course, she was right. There was not an ounce of fight left in him. 

"We are still not…" he hesitated to unbuckle his pants. "… doing all of it." 

Eilin tilted her head and laughed loudly at his sheepish expression. "Come," she urged with an outstretched hand and smiling at him invitingly. He got into the warm water and smiled at her as well. 

This was different, having her completely bare against his body. He grew bold during the last three moons and started to feel more and more comfortable with himself. Funny, how the pleasure you can bring someone can make you feel worthy… He closed her in his arms and kissed her gently, gradually deepening their kiss. She felt amazing pressed down on his body, warm and soft. 

"I want to kiss you…" he murmured eventually. Eilin smirked, biting on his lower lip.

"You are kissing me…" she remarked with mischief but squealed softly a moment later when Jon raised her and sat her down on the edge of the pool. She was biting down on her lip when Jon moved between her legs and raised her right foot putting a soft kiss there. Looking up briefly at her he raised his eyebrows in a silent question. The girl only nodded eagerly. He moved his mouth over her calf and thigh, eventually raising her leg onto his shoulder. 

He wondered about her taste many times when he would smell her on his fingers but never was bold enough to just lick them. He should have, he decided, when he opened her with his tongue. Neither Robb nor Theon ever spoke about such activities, but he guessed it was not something a man did while paying for pleasure. Which I don't have to do.

Somehow that thought made him even more excited, the fact that he has a fully willing woman just for himself, a woman that wants him and is giving her body for nothing but a promise of pleasure. He felt obliged to give his best. 

He attentively listened to her softly whispered hints, trying to follow them to the letter and soon was rewarded by soft screams. Eilin was pushing her cunt into his face more and more forcefully and he finally took hold of her hips to keep her in place. He felt her juices dripping over his chin and growled suddenly, the noise only making the girl scream more. He decided he did quite well when she forcefully gripped his hair and started to fuck his face. He looked up smiling and snorted when he saw her laying down breathing heavily. She had a stupid smile on her face.

"Don't be so smug…" she chimed. "You still have a lot to learn!" 

"What is the saying?" Jon emerged from the pool and crawled over her body. "Practice makes perfect?" 

Once they started they couldn't get enough of each other. They continued to quench their thirst in his room, Jon softly silencing the girl with his hand or lips, afraid that someone within the residence could hear them. He was not naïve enough to believe that their activities were completely secret. Somehow, he was not bothered by that. 

It was the middle of the night when Eilin urged him to lie flat on his plush bed and sat over his hard cock. 

"We shouldn't…" he tried to stop her but at the same time, he felt her heat almost surrounding him and his argument lacked conviction. 

"There's no time like the present…" Eilin only smiled, this strange sadness he noticed in her many times, visible again. 

Jon gave up, not needing to be swayed any longer, finally accepting that he can take whatever he wants without shame. 

* * *

Someone was shaking his arm violently but Jon only groaned and tried to change his side.

"Wake up!" he was urged, and eventually he cracked one eye open looking at Eilin with a smirk. 

"Ready for round two?" he murmured, snaking his arm around her but something in her stance gave him pause. Eilin looked scared, almost panicked. "Is everything fine?" he asked, this time more coherent. The girl shook her head slowly and Jon noticed her eyes filling with tears. Full of bad feelings, he quickly sat up. "What's going on? Did I hurt you?"

The girl took hold of his arms and inhaled shakenly.

"You have to go!" she said in a hurried whisper. 

"This is my room…"

"No, Jon! You have to go, run from the island!"

Jon sat more comfortably and looked at the girl coldly. "What do you mean?"

"They lied to you! There is no egg…"

Jon felt like a pound of ice fell down his stomach. "What do you mean?" he said moving a bit away, trying to put a distance between the two of them. Eilin bit her lower lip and looked down, clearly ashamed. 

"He is fully grown." The boy felt the cold only intensifying. "They believe that you are his rider but… No one can be sure. I don't want you to risk your life like that. That beast…" the girl sobbed quietly, still whispering in a ragged tiny voice. "He wakes up from time to time and… Last time he burned down the whole flock. What you saw, the burned meadow, it wasn't because of a bolt of lightning. He is wild and I don't think you can control him. They are going to send you to the caves so you could tame him. Jon, do you remember the stories of dragons from Dragonstone? He is…" She gulped visibly and Jon felt even worse, almost dizzy seeing her animal-like fear. "He must be Cannibal. He is black like the night sky and giant… By the gods Jon, he is probably the biggest that ever existed." 

Jon was already up, looking for his clothes. His hands were shaking, he wasn't sure if it was from fear or fury.

_Stupid, stupid… I have trusted foreigners instead of my father's friend. And now I shall end as a sacrifice to a wild dragon._

"When do they want to do it?" he asked coldly. Eilin reached for his arm but he pushed her hand away violently. "Don't touch me!" he threatened, which only caused the girl to sob harder. "When?!" he roared.

"I don't know…" she whispered. "Vera told me yesterday to warn you."

"Vera?" he asked, turning to her again and feeling his heart grow big with fear. Suddenly, her strange behavior lately made sense. Her sadness, her guilt and shame, her cryptic words… "Explain!" 

"I think that she wasn't sure of herself… She started to doubt." The girl bit her trembling lower lip. "She just told me last evening to spend some good time with you and then to tell you."

He was shaking from fury. How big of a fool could he be? Does he know nothing?! 

"Can you help me?" he asked, remembering very well Ser Arthur's story. 

_No one leaves the island without a guide_. 

"They will kill me…" Eilin whispered fearfully, looking at him like he had lost his mind. 

Jon was fed up with her lies. She gasped weakly when he closed her neck in a tight grip.

"If you won't help me, I will kill you. And I will do so right away."

She closed her eyes and slowly nodded. "We are taking Ser Arthur and we are leaving. Dress up."

"Jon, please…" she whispered again. 

"Don't speak! Don't even look at me. I can never forgive myself. I was fool enough to touch you. Get dressed and just get us a boat."

He quickly threw a few basic items into a satchel. There was no time for preparation. He had to hope that he and Ser Arthur would manage with what they have. 

Jon froze at the entrance where he almost collided with Arthur. He looked down seeing two men laying down the path, clearly dead. 

"You?" Jon whispered.

"There's no time!" The knight urged him. "I found a message in my room, they are going to kill you." Arthur walked first, his sword ready. Jon and Eilin were trekking behind him.

"Yes, Eilin told me. Vera made her, she probably left you a message as well. We have to get her, Arthur…"

"Forget about this damned woman."

Jon closed his eyes briefly, realizing that the knight is sadly right. He has to forget about Vera and focus on himself. " A wild dragon…Arthur, this is madness!"

"They all are mad," Arthur said somewhat sadly. "And we were foolish trusting them." Jon didn't answer knowing very well that the fault was solely his. 

The docks were empty but Jon was looking around, expecting an attack at any moment.

"That bitch," Arthur hissed suddenly under his breath. "I should have killed her a long time ago." 

"Lady Vera has nothing to say in these matters," Eilin suddenly said. "Adam is in charge."

"She has everything to say in this!" the Knight growled and Jon thought that there was something more than just a wave of anger in his tone. His voice rang with a sense of deep sadness and betrayal. 

Jon was quiet, remembering every moment he spent with the strange woman. Since the first meeting in the brothel, their fights and strange intimate moments. She was growing sadder and sadder, the longer she stayed in his presence. She was growing more and more guilty… 

The Knight abruptly stopped and Jon wanted to groan when he noticed a group of people waiting on them near the deck. There were at least twenty of them, each person holding a bow. When they started to raise them one by one, Jon knew that they lost. 

Adam took a few steps closer and smiled gently at Jon. "You don't have to be afraid, my King, everything is going to be fine."

Arthur Dayne stood in front of Jon, watching their enemies with caution, no doubt analyzing their situation. Jon put a hand on his arm and squeezed it gently, letting him silently know to not risk his life needlessly. 

"Where is she?" Arthur growled, ignoring Jon. Adam raised his eyebrows. 

"You mean my sister?" he asked with mockery.

"Yes. She can at least look us in the eyes after her treachery!" 

Adam raised his eyebrows even higher. "Vera allowed her emotions to get better of her. She is indisposed now," he said coldly. 

Jon felt his heart tighten. He took a step forward standing next to Arthur. "She is probably the sanest among you… If you harmed her…" he paused because what could he threaten them with? 

Adam was watching him with an unreadable expression.

"It is women's weakness. She allowed her reservation to take control and she doubted our holy cause. She will come to herself when she sees you emerging from the caves on the back of the beast."

"I would rather count on her gouging out your eyes when said beast kills me."

"He will not!" Adam said and Jon wished to be sure of anything as much as this crazy man was sure of himself. "You will see…" He raised a torch and nodded. "We shall go."

They walked for over an hour, threw the desolated rocks and meadows. Eventually, they stopped at the entrance to the cave, the black tunnel leading under the ground. Jon looked around grimacing when he noticed dozens of blackening bones scattered around. 

He looked around and glared at Adam. 

"So?" he almost growled. "What next?"

An Islander handed him a torch. "You should go, Your Grace. He is awaiting you."

"Are you sure?" Jon questioned. "Can you bet your life on that?"

Adam gulped visibly. Jon glanced at Ser Arthur who was looking at him hopelessly, clearly barely containing himself. Twenty bows, twenty arrows… Could he avoid all of them? _He couldn't_ , Jon judged sadly. 

"This is going to end in your death, either way, Adam," Jon promised him. He had no idea where his sudden calmness was coming from. Perhaps from the mere fact that there's no point fighting the inevitable? "Either I get inside and truly mount that cursed dragon… and then I will fucking burn you to ashes, or I won't and I would die there. And then…" he turned his gaze to Ser Arthur…" promise me, that you will kill that little shit first!" while pointing at Adam with fury in his eyes.

Arthur only nodded grimly, almost shaking with fury. Jon took a torch and raised his head. 

"Well, let's begin," he said and walked right into the lair of the beast..inside and truly mount that cursed dragon… and then I will fucking burn you to ashes, or I won't and I would die there. And then…" he turned his gaze to Ser Arthur…" promise me, that you will kill that little shit first!" while pointing at Adam with fury in his eyes.

Arthur only nodded grimly, almost shaking with fury. Jon took a torch and raised his head. 

"Well, let's begin," he said and walked right into the lair of the beast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the "slow" chapters. Starting from chapter 6 there is going to be far more action. I am not entirely sure if I like how this chapter turned out and I am curious to see what you think!


	6. Playing with Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has no other way but to face the beast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Onar27 for beta-reading! I value every idea, suggestion and correction you made! ❤

He had no idea how many hours he had spent inside this cave, walking across dark and humid corridors. Some of the passages he followed were tight; some were almost as broad as the Great hall of Winterfell and tall like the pine trees in the Wolfswood, while other paths led into dead ends, with nowhere to go. He was scared and there was no point pretending otherwise. The feeling of dread was like a thick blanket surrounding him. His hands were shaking, causing the light, from the torch he had been given, to dance on the walls. 

He knew he was probably walking to his death. 

It was sad, for he really didn't want to die. The thought that he was never to see Arya again, or Robb or the rest of his siblings was excruciating. Despite this, however, he felt a strange calmness under the surface, ever since he entered this accursed cave. He felt resigned, accepting of his fate. He would die and yet that wasn't his biggest concern. 

He was worried about Ser Arthur. For so many years the brave knight had been safe in Hidden Island but now, when Jon would fail the Islanders, they would surely end him. He only hoped that Arthur would manage to take Adam with him in the process. This crazy man deserved to die. And Vera? She betrayed her people to help Jon escape. Her folk would probably kill the wise woman as well. Somehow, that thought gave him pause and he had to stop, in order to swallow his tears. On the rare occasions, when she was just simply sweet to him, he had felt a strange wave of comfort. She cared for him in her own twisted way, offering him a resemblance of motherly affection. Probably the only one he will ever experience. 

And what about Eilin? Oh, how angry he was at her... She made a fool out of him. He was trekking behind her like a dog on a leash, too focused on her charms to ask any questions. She would probably fail in the category of a traitor, just like Lady Vera, and she would end dead or imprisoned.

If by some miracle he survives, it would be the last time he trusts anyone like that, he vowed with malice. Lord Stark had been right and that made him even angrier at himself. He decided to chase a stupid fantasy, instead of enjoying his simple life. Gods had a bitter taste of humor. And he was just a green boy, chasing after stories of heroism and glory, no better than Sansa and her valiant knights and fair maidens. 

He was forced to put a stop to his line of hateful thinking, because he felt a strange warmth in the air. He stopped at the entrance of a giant stone chamber, as big as Winterfell's yard. He probably was all the way to the center of the mountain, they led him to, since the inside of the stone chamber looked almost as high as any castle walls, he had ever seen. Spiky rocks and stalagmites decorated the ground, making it unlike any other cave he had passed on his way here. 

And there, in the middle of the cave laid a dragon. 

Jon was left speechless, looking at the beast. Its scales shined and appeared completely black, in the dim light from his torch. It was sleeping, its giant belly moving slowly. Jon gulped and instantly worried that the motion sounded like a clap of thunder. He stood frozen, at the same level as the front of the dragon's snout, Jon's head slightly below of the beast's nostrils. He trailed with his gaze the dragon's curled form and decided it must be at least two hundred feet. Probably bigger. 

The dragon suddenly groaned in its sleep and Jon jumped, startled by the noise. He took a step back instinctively and slipped on the wet ground, collapsing flat on his back, the torch flying from his hand. His fall made single rocks scatter and the boy closed his eyes, praying to the Gods to be merciful and that the beast would carry on with its slumber. But as he had thought earlier, the Gods had a bitter taste of humor. Slowly, one green eye opened and the beast looked straight at the unwanted guest. Jon laid frozen as the dragon was staring at him, probably as flabbergasted as he himself was that someone had dared to sneak up so close. After an agonizingly long pause, however, the giant jaw started to open. 

Not waiting a second longer, the boy stood up and ran. He chose to jump left, to one of the smaller corridors, outside the giant stone chamber, right on time to avoid the breath of fire that was clearly aimed at the spot he previously laid in. Soon a deafening roar followed. Jon found himself crawling in a tight passage, all his senses screaming for him to go, to run, even though he could barely see anything, his torch having been left behind in the stone chamber. The growl grew louder behind him. Suddenly the tight passage ended and he fell into a far bigger corridor, big enough for a dragon to fit in. Jon decided to follow a right passage this time and cursed a moment later, when he found himself in front of a cold wall. A dead end. He was trapped. 

He stood in front of the wall and closed his eyes. The great beast was somewhere close and Jon knew that there would be no escape. The dragon surely knew those corridors, surely could smell him, surely could hear his heart beating frantically in his chest. Jon looked up and noticed that he couldn’t see the cave’s ceiling from where he was standing. He was looking into seemingly endless darkness. The air above him had grown warmer and he realized that he was looking at the beast’s scales. It was right above him. He forced himself to take a steading breath, as he got ready to die. He wanted to live so desperately, but there was no way out. A giant black head appeared over him and green eyes were almost shining in the dark. The dragon was watching him silently. And then, the beast opened its giant maw once more and through its sharp teeth, the boy could see light so bright it illuminated the dark chamber. The beast breathed fire on him again. 

The last thought Jon had, before he was engulfed in flames, was that Maester Luwin had once told them that no other fire could ever match the heat of the dragon’s breath; at least his death ought to be quick then. The flames, red with a slightly greenish undertone enveloped him completely and he could feel his clothes burn away, the metal from his belt and buttons melting and slowly dripping down his skin. He felt lost inside this hell for hours, while only a few moments had passed, before the beast closed its mouth. 

The dragon appeared even more surprised than Jon, when the fire stopped and the boy remained where he stood, under the cave wall, shaking and crying, but very much alive. The beast froze for a moment and then growled again bringing its monstrous snout closer to Jon, its nose almost touching the boy's belly. Only by a miracle, Jon didn't piss himself right then, expecting the dragon to snap him in half. 

It took all of his courage to bring himself to open his eyes and look up, right into the green menacing gaze. If he was going to die, he will do so with as much dignity as possible. 

"I didn't want to come here," Jon whispered, scared that louder noise could annoy the monster further, while praying with all his heart that the beast could somehow understand him. "They made me. They took my friend and threatened him. I am sorry for disturbing you and interrupting your slumber”. 

Jon could swear that the sound the beast made sounded almost amused. He figured he must look like a very irritating and yet amusing ant to the dragon. Swallowing hard, he continued. "They think I can ride you, but they also told me who they believe you to be. People call you the Cannibal, the untamed dragon. I…" Jon swallowed his tears. "I guess I had no right to sneak up on you like that. I apologize for my misstep." 

Slowly, very slowly the beast backed away, giving him some place to breathe. 

"What a humble creature", a deep, ancient, male voice rang into his ears. 

Jon stopped breathing. He had probably lost his mind, at this point, because there was no way that the beast just spoke. Trying to stop himself from shaking, he risked raising his head and looking the dragon in the eyes again. They were surprisingly intelligent. 

"You speak?" the boy whispered fearfully, questioning his own sanity. The beast stopped moving and slowly titled its enormous head. 

"You can hear my voice?" 

Jon felt slightly better hearing the surprise in the dragon’s voice. He nodded slowly. 

"Truly?" the dragon demanded and Jon nodded one more time. "Funny…." the beast they called the Cannibal almost purred. “The last creature I remember talking with was my beautiful mother. She is gone, long gone." 

The dragon backed away a bit more and Jon could finally bring his breathing under control. It…he, Jon though, the voice is clearly male… slowly lowered his head, so that his eyes were at the same level as Jon’s gaze. 

"I tried to speak with those other dragons. The ones I found at Dragonstone. They were nothing but mindless animals. Oh, how I hated those dragons! Those puppets in the hands of slavers! Because that what they were, you know. Puppets; without honor. All they were good for was being a little snack. That's what my mother used to say. We are the last with honor and dignity, my light; she was always calling me that..."

Jon listened with wide eyes, not daring to interject to the dragon’s musings. It did seem like he really was the Cannibal, though. The dragon tilted his head again, like a curious bird.

"Do you think you can enslave me too? Did you come to make me your slave, boy?" Jon shook his head frantically, an action that seemed to amuse the dragon further. "Maybe you are a bit smarter than most then. Why can you hear me?" 

"I have Targaryen blood in me. Maybe…" Jon started weakly, but shut up when the dragon roared at him, making the boy fall to the ground. 

"Do not speak to me of those monsters!" The dragon opened his mouth and Jon crawled backwards, until his bare back hit the wall, ready to be burned again. "The Valyrians bound us! They used their filthy magic on my kind and they started to use us! Us! The greatest of species! They used us like humans use horses!" 

"I don't know!" Jon yelled, pulling his naked knees to his chest and turning himself to a ball against the wall. "Kill me or let me go! Stop toying with me, please! I didn’t even want to come here!" 

The dragon moved away and looked at Jon from above. And then, he laughed. The dragon was laughing at him. And dragon laughter was like a tremor in your bones, like a strange vibration of your skin. 

"Kill you or release you? That's all you want? Or maybe your family, those Valyrian scumbags sent you here?" The dragon’s voice was positively vicious at this point. 

Jon was quick to shake his head. 

"I have never met them. My father is dead and my aunt and uncle…" Jon inhaled shakily. "My Valyrian family is long gone, all of them. As far as I know, they are lying dead somewhere in Essos. Vera was looking for them but never found them. I swear I have never met them", he was rambling to buy himself some time. "I know nothing about my Valyrian heritage...There's only me and I am very much the Northerner!" He even hit his chest a couple of times to emphasize his words. 

The dragon narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"But you said they made you come here. Who then, if not the Valyrians? " the dragon inquired, but then snorted. "Ah. The people of Hidden Island, I presume? 

Jon nodded simply. 

"Ah, they were chosen. Chosen, a thousand years ago by my ancestors. My mother and I have protected them from this so-called Targaryen king, you know? He and his little dragon ran away like scared children!" The dragon looked sideways. "Well, it was mostly my mother that fought. I helped her of course… Well, assisted a bit. But surely I did good! She praised me later!" 

Was the dragon bragging? Jon looked up and slowly nodded, hoping that the dragon will think that he was somehow impressed.

"It is known that Balerion and Aegon didn't manage to conquer Hidden Island. Now, I understand why. I would say it's impressive, but I assume it was child's play for you, to scare them off." Jon even managed to weakly chuckle, as he shakily brought himself to his feet once more. "Looking at you... I can say that Balerion was a poor excuse of a dragon."

The dragon almost purred. 

_Well, who doesn't like a bit of flattery?_ Jon thought. 

The dragon moved closer again and the boy forced himself not to flinch, as the beast took a deep breath, inhaling Jon’s smell. 

"You don't stink as bad as most of those bugs. Maybe they were right to bring you to me. What have the people of this island told you, human child?" 

Jon shifted uncomfortably, under the great dragon’s scrutiny. 

"They spoke of prophecies. The Long Night and… they called me the promised prince…and a king." His voice was still horribly shaky but his heartbeat had slowed down. _Keep talking, keep him amused, Jon!_

"I know that story. My mother used to tell me I was chosen as well. You shall be one mind in two bodies, blah, blah, blah…" Cannibal titled his head with mockery, but grew solemn after a short pause. "She showed me though…" Dragon's voice sounded suddenly very sad. "We flew and she showed me the great threat, the cold that can freeze over, even a dragon." The beast shook his head and came closer almost touching Jon with his snout. "But they are mistaken, those people of Hidden Island. Humans aren't particularly sharp as it is so no wonder. If you can speak with me, you are not the Prince. You…" Dragon puffed at Jon, a hot air tingling the boy's skin. "… must be the Lightbringer." 

The dragon stretched as tall as space allowed him, spreading his wings.

"And I am supposed to be…” the dragon kind of snorted “... your Light. We, dragons of old, have silly prophecies of our own." 

Jon was at a loss for words.

"What does that mean?" he finally asked. 

The dragon turned around slowly and started to crawl away. 

"Come," he ordered, with a heavy sigh. "I will show you the painting."

Jon sighed and followed the great dragon, through the darkness, using the walls of the cave to steady himself. He could see the light from the torch he had left behind in the distance, though, as it had thankfully not been extinguished. They reached the great stone chamber, he had first found the dragon and he watched as the great beast motioned with his enormous head at the entrance to another cave. 

"Go, see this nonsense," dragon urged impatiently. 

Deciding that there's no point to annoy the dragon further, Jon picked up the torch and walked inside the adjoining cave and jumped a moment later, when the dragon opened his mouth, the fire gathering inside it lighting up the cave more than the torch could ever do. The boy looked up and halted seeing every part of the stone covered by drawings. Jon gawked at each and every one of them, his shock growing stronger. 

The pictures seemed to be telling a story; a story of a war between blue-eyed creatures and men and a fight between ice and fire. Jon turned his head around, trying to take it all in, finally finding himself gaping at a drawing of a giant black dragon and the dark shape of its rider, slashing through dead frozen enemies. 

The flames slowly died down, as the dragon closed his mouth and the Cannibal moved closer to Jon.

"Do you see?" the dragon asked. 

"Old Nan has been telling us about the Others; the Islanders believe it too. Are you telling me it is true?" Jon whispered with fear. 

"It is", the dragon replied plainly in his deep, ancient voice. "I didn’t believe it myself but then my mother took me far North, beyond what humans call the Wall and I saw them", the dragon put his head on the cold floor and Jon could swear that there was sadness in his eyes. "I saw them. They attacked us. I was smaller and fast but my mother was slower. She was shielding me, when more and more ice arrows were flying in our direction, their coldness freezing our scales." 

The dragon looked straight in his eyes and Jon felt the dragon’s sorrow washing over him. 

"Did she… did they kill her?" Jon asked gently. He was, once again, shocked. He could swear he read somewhere that Silverwing had refused to fly beyond the Wall with Queen Alysanne. What else this unknown branch of dragons could do? It was another thing to worry about. 

The dragon only closed his eyes hearing Jon's question.

"She was able to fly beyond the great ice wall, but at the sea she grew weak and fell down, the waves took her away from me." 

"I am sorry…" Jon whispered. "My mother died giving birth to me; I never met her. I am sorry for your loss. It is horrible to not have a mother." 

The Cannibal rose from the floor and turned away, perhaps ashamed by the weakness he just showed. 

"You are nothing but a child. My mother used to tell me pretty stories about me being a hero. The people of this Island told you the same. But beasts strong enough to kill my mother, the mightiest among my kind, they cannot be defeated. You will not beat Death, no one can. I am safe here, in my cave, human child", the dragon crawled away further. "Find a safe place of your own. Walk away and don't disturb me again".

Jon sat in the cold cave for what felt like an eternity, thinking about the dragon's words. 

He was right. An army of dead men could not be defeated. He hoped the people of Hidden Island will allow him and Ser Arthur to leave and go back to Winterfell. There was death waiting for all of them and he was going to live a good boring life for long as possible, instead of chasing silly, summer dreams. 

* * *

It was already past sunrise when he limped from the cave. He felt like an idiot standing there, completely butt naked and covered in shoot and ash. He let out a sigh of relief, when he noticed Lady Vera, seated right next to Arthur. Her wrists, just like the knight's, were bound with a chain. Jon felt cold, icy fury in his veins at seeing her left eye almost closed, because of bruising and her lower lip cut open. So it was true, she had fought for him. He glared at Adam. This little shit had dared to harm her. 

Everyone halted everything they were doing, gawping at him in wonder. Jon stood his ground and moved his gaze across every person; eventually the archers slowly started to lower their weapons, a few of them gulping audibly. Adam was looking him up and down, absolutely dumbfounded. 

"Thank the gods," he heard and almost smiled, despite the fury still freeing his blood, hearing the relief in Arthur's voice. 

"Give him something to put on, he's freezing!" Vera ordered with her typical authority, despite being essentially a prisoner. 

The archers looked at each other, clearly not knowing what to do. Finally, one of them stepped forward and gave Jon his coat, probably deciding to not mess further with a man, who has just faced a dragon and walked free. Jon yanked the coat away angrily, throwing it over his shoulders. Adam was still watching him in shock. 

"The beast?" he asked eventually. "Where is he?" 

"Well, the dragon and I had a nice heart-to-heart and agreed on something." 

"What is that?" Adam shook his head. 

Everyone was watching Jon, equally scared and amazed. 

"You can go fuck yourself!" 

Jon had never thought that punching someone could feel so good. But when Adam fell on the ground, nursing his bloodied nose, Jon felt beyond amazing. 

* * *

"They think you some kind of God", Vera smirked at Jon. He was silent, gently cleaning away the blood from her cheek. "Even more than before." 

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asked eventually.

Vera lowered her gaze, avoiding his eyes. 

"Since I've been a little girl, my grandfather had been telling me about a chosen prince that will control the beast and bring the Dawn. Dragons had lived here since anyone could remember, sometimes hunting us and sometimes protecting us as they did when Aegon and Balerion came. I was five when the beast emerged from his cave one night and burned down part of the city, killing many of us. I was so terrified then… but my grandpa told me that it was a necessary sacrifice. The dragon needed to breathe fire; he needed fire and blood to keep up his magical powers. He told me a beautiful story, so full of hope and one making us, the Islanders, the saviors of the entire world. There was a prophecy of a chosen one, the one that will bond with the dragon and lead us to greatness and the world of forever summer. Our sacrifice was a necessity we were all accepting. Everyone, since we could speak and understand words, has told us that we must endure it. Then Adam had visions about the fall of Prince Rhaegar". The woman glanced at Arthur and gulped. "Adam announced that the Gods gave him the sight. He said that our savior soon would be born and he sent me to Dorne. The rest you know. I…" she trailed off, as she hesitated. "I truly believed it", Vera eventually sighed. "The dragon has been asleep the whole time Arthur has been here. We told ourselves that his rider was finally born and so the dragon was calm, waiting for him, for you Jon. But then I saw what he did in the meadow". Her voice broke and she quickly cleared her throat. 

"And you doubted?" 

Vera looked at him with sadness. "It wasn't like grandfather used to describe it. The dragon was again restless and aggressive and…I started to worry that perhaps what my family used to believe in was just a tale to comfort me, calm themselves and everyone else. A beautiful fairytale to comfort other scared girls." 

Jon exhaled and reached for an ointment. Vera grimaced when he put it on her cut. 

"Sorry," he murmured and she smiled. 

"You risked your life to send this girl to warn us?" Arthur asked the big question. Vera shrugged, but Jon wasn't satisfied, yet. He reached for her face and raised her chin. 

"Why?" 

She huffed taking her head away. 

"Because there was a chance – small - but still a chance, that we were mistaken! And the more time I spend with you, the clearer has become that you would be a good king; without that cursed beast that is nothing more but a tool of destruction." 

Jon glanced at Arthur, who only shrugged his shoulder.

"What do you want me to do next? How can I trust you ever again?" Jon asked, shaking his head. 

Vera smiled sadly. 

"Maybe you shouldn't." 

"I am sure I shouldn't!" 

He closed the jar with the ointment that he had applied on her face, turning away from her. 

"You have been lying to me from the beginning. And yet you betrayed your people for me," Jon sighed as he cleaned his hands, shaking his head. "What am I supposed to do? What am I doing here, Vera? What is my purpose? Am I truly your promised king? I was there, standing against the dragon and I was nothing more, but a scared boy. Definitely not your fearless savior! ”

He threw the rag away and leaned over the table. Both Vera and Arthur were watching him silently; giving him time to process everything. In reality Jon didn’t think he was even able to do that. He had met a dragon, a dragon he could talk to and he also didn’t burn apparently, for whatever reason and oh, ice monsters were supposed to kill everyone and everything! How could someone ever come to terms with all that? 

“I don’t…” he shook his head, “I don’t think I can do this! Honestly, I don’t want to do this! I don’t know how, even if…” 

“Oh, come on, Jon, please!” Vera interrupted sharply. “Do you think Aegon was born and then…” she snapped her fingers “magically conquered the Seven Kingdoms? Do you think any worthy ruler knew what to do from day one? We are all learning. From the first breath we take, outside our mother’s womb, to the last one on our death bed. Perhaps even after our end we still learn in the land of the Gods.” She exhaled loudly. “You have great potential. Believe it or not, magic greater than any of us brought you to this world.”

“I don’t think…”

“You do think! Don’t you hear yourself? All you do is wonder and ask questions; thinking too much, doubting yourself at every step! Don’t get me wrong, it is a good character trait, since it will stop you from becoming an arrogant arsehole and yet, you are taking this self-doubt a bit too far, right now! Jon…” She stood up and came closer taking his face in her hands. “You faced a dragon that murdered hundreds, maybe thousands! You fought against him…”

“That’s a bit of a stretch”. 

“You stood against his hellish breath and remained without a scratch! My people were taught to follow you before you were even born but now… now they see with their own eyes what kind of wonder you are. So stop doubting yourself! You deserve everything!”

“Passionate speech,” Arthur remarked in a cold tone, “But, perhaps, our King would rather leave this cursed place altogether.”

Vera glared at Arthur. 

“Which is what you want, no doubt! It would be nothing but a shame, a terrible waste of potential. I believe he can unite all people. I believe we will manage to get ready for the upcoming invasion, under his guidance. Who can do that if not him?” She looked back at Jon. “I will not force you to stay with us if you find us unworthy, but I will ask you to allow me to follow you, no matter what path you choose. If you want, I will help you go back to Winterfell," she offered weakly. "No one will stop us now. Not after they dragged Adam to the dungeon on your command. All I ask is to be allowed to accompany you. I swear I will always do my best to help you." 

Jon gritted his teeth. He felt more conflicted than ever. Sitting on the cold floor of the cave he wanted to do just that. Run away. But now…even if he did run away, how far and how fast could he run? If the stories about the Others were true and the evidence did appear to pile up, then there would be nowhere to hide. And Winterfell. The North. The home he grew up in would be in the first line. His family would be in grave danger. His brothers and his sisters could be hurt and that terrified him more than anything else had this retched day. 

"The dragon won't help. He is afraid of the ice beasts," Jon said quietly. "I have to admit…it appears that…they must be true". 

He felt Vera place a hand on his shoulder, but he still didn't turn to her. 

"Are you afraid?" she asked quietly. 

"A dragon, larger than a mountain, is scared of them! Of course, I am afraid!" Jon hissed. 

He stepped away from her touch and looked across the room at the Kinsguard, who was looking at the floor with a thoughtful look upon his face. 

"Ser Arthur?" Jon asked. "Do you have any advice?" 

"Your father, Prince Rhaegar, believed in that ancient prophecy. He believed that his son will be the legendary Azor Ahai, the warrior of light,” the knight said and then looked at Jon and smiled. "If anyone would be, I do believe it would be you”. 

"The dragon claims that I am the Lightbringer. He was talking with me, you know. Just like I am talking with you right now! I didn't know dragons can do that!" Jon exclaimed and then noticed Vera's eyes growing wide with surprise; definitely not something that dragons should do then. “But what does it matter? He is terrified. An enormous beast, that can breathe fire, is scared like a mouse," Jon shook his head, still baffled by the whole encounter. 

"If a dragon, such as the Cannibal, fears those beasts, then I assume our chances are slim but…" Arthur trailed off and exhaled. He seemed to be contemplating something for a few moments, before slowly nodding. "I am a warrior. They will come for all of us eventually no matter what and when they do, I will not just lie down and take it. I will fight back." 

Jon sighed in frustration. He felt so very tired all of the sudden; the adrenaline pumping through his veins ever since they tried to escape the island was finally ebbing away, leaving him with a bone deep exhaustion. 

"We still have a chance with the Seven Kingdoms united. Dragon or no dragon. We know their weaknesses. We have dragonglass, we are making weapons. We will be prepared. Hopefully, you will command the living…" Vera added. 

Jon felt beset by them and their bravery. He felt so many thoughts, pushing on his mind that he was ready to burst into tears. 

A man can only be brave when he’s scared. 

Oh by the Gods, he was more scared than he could ever remember being before. He had barely grasped that his whole life had been built upon a lie, still not fully processing it and coming to terms with it and now he had been dragged into what felt like a fantasy world. His stay at Hidden Island had been like a dream. A beautiful palace, lavishing feasts, kind people and a beautiful maiden, he had believed cared for him. But it had all been a deception. A trickery to make him want to be their savior. But it wasn’t just the madness of these people, the threat was very much real and lurking somewhere. 

_I yelled at Lord Stark, declaring I would achieve greatness. I demanded his help and what now? Should I crawl back to Winterfell, not as a proud wolf, but as a mongrel with its tail between its legs?_

He felt a wave of shame, mixed with a burning anger growing inside him. Maybe it was the dragon he kept hidden deep inside rising his head with fiery fury?

_I will not fucking do so! No one ever needed me as these people do. All their manipulation aside, the bloody ice monsters are real and everyone is in danger, Lord Stark and his siblings, Winterfell and the North and the all of the Seven Kingdoms. And what if I am truly the only one who has any chance to defeat them?_

_I just spoke with the ancient dragon. Perhaps there is nothing impossible in this world anymore._

_Perhaps I have to try and learn it for myself._

"Fuck it," Jon grumbled punching the table.

He reached for a satchel and an extra coat. He had no other way but to follow up with this madness.

"What are you doing, your grace?" Arthur asked, pushing himself from the wall he was leaning against and walking to him. 

"I am packing something spare just in case. I am not going to walk out naked the second time!" 

He noticed that Vera and Arthur exchanged worried glances. 

"We just told you…" she started but he raised his hand to stop her. 

"Don't!" Jon put the small satchel over his arm. "Tell your people I am trying again." 

"Jon!" Arthur exclaimed and the boy stopped, smirking at him. 

"Oh, so you can say my name!" he joked patting Arthur's arm.

Jon passed them and walked to the door. Both Vera and Arthur were hot at his heels, almost jogging. 

"This is not wise. Perhaps you should wait a few days. You said yourself that the beast was irritated!" Vera cried panicky. 

"He was pissed. And sadly there is no magical bond between us," he looked at Vera. "He is intelligent, though and he liked talking with me. All I can hope for is to persuade him to help us. And Gods help us, because I am scared of what he may want in return. But I will try. We have a better chance to win the war with the ice monsters with a dragon by our side than without him." 

If they were able to fight down their fear, the damned dragon should be able to do so too, and Jon vowed he will make him see reason. 

* * *

He could remember where to go and so this time his journey to the lair of the dragon was relatively quicker than before, when he was stumbling blindly from one cave to the other. The Cannibal was lying down, looking like a giant cat with scales. 

"Hello again!" Jon said loudly and with forced cheer and the dragon slowly raised his head. 

"You, again? Why are you here? Leave, I am tired", the dragon crawled with surprising grace and turned his back at Jon. 

The boy cleared his throat. 

"I thought we could talk…" Jon offered. 

The dragon turned his head and opened one of his eyes. 

"We did talk. Now, I am resting." 

"Damn, you are the laziest dragon to have ever been born…" Jon murmured under his breath and he noticed some tensing of the giant reptile's tail. Shit, he just said that out loud, didn’t he?

Dragon rose to his impressive height and glared down at Jon.

"Are you trying to offend me, you bug?" 

"No, I am sorry,” the boy hurried to say. “I just, I have been thinking…" 

The dragon started to crawl away. Jon cursed under his breath and started to quickly follow after him. 

"You know, about our situation,” he went on. 

The dragon exited his cave and moved down the bigger corridor. Jon was walking closely, but far enough that his giant tail wouldn’t smash him accidently. 

"We have nothing that is ours.”

"When you told me about the Others, I wanted to go home; to my family. To forget about chasing my dream about the crown and enjoy my life till it lasts," Jon snorted. "You were so terrified that I thought I should piss myself even thinking about fighting them." 

"If I remember correctly, you almost did, when you saw me." 

"Almost," Jon murmured, blushing at the memory. "But you are mighty and terrifying as well, definitely more than the Others, so yes, I was scared." 

"They are worse than me…" the dragon almost whispered. 

He entered another cave and Jon trudged after him stubbornly. 

"Maybe they are, if you are so scared of them." 

Jon could swear that dragon sighed.

"Do you think I don't know what are you trying to do, human child? You think that I will be ashamed of my fear and help you fight them?" 

Jon cleared his throat. 

"Yes, that was my plan." 

_A very stupid one, it seemed._

"Stupid one," the dragon said almost like he could sense Jon's trail of thoughts. "I will ask you one more time to leave me be. You are the only creature that can entertain me with a conversation, but you are getting annoying. Perhaps it would be better to spend my life in silence." 

The dragon turned sharply to him and bared his giant teeth; they were bigger and thicker than the boy’s whole arm. Jon was shaking now, but took a deep breath to gain some control over his emotions. 

"They will come for you, it's a truth you cannot deny. One day they will conquer the whole world. They will find you here," Jon whispered softly. 

The dragon lowered his head, almost touching Jon with his snout; thankfully he had closed his maw and his sharp teeth were hidden away. 

"You cannot be sure." 

"I am. It is on those drawings you showed me. You are Light, you said so yourself. And they are Darkness. They will do everything to destroy you. My friend told me he is a warrior. He said he is scared but he'd rather die fighting than hiding like a coward. And my father used to say that a man can only be brave when he’s afraid," Jon implored and risked a tentative step forward, looking up in one giant, emerald eye. "I will fight against them, with or without you. Not because I want to be some kind of a hero but because I will have no other choice. Listen, Light…" Jon continued slowly. "You will die either way. We all will…" He exhaled and slowly put his hand on a dragon's snout. 

His scales were hot under his fingertips. He felt the beast tensing under his touch but otherwise, there was no other reaction.

"They murdered your mother,” he went on. “If I had your power, I would have tried to take as much of those monsters with me as possible," he said softly and gently. 

The dragon huffed, the hot air from his breath almost knocking Jon over. They remained quiet for a few minutes, staring in each other eyes. 

"I feel a strange urge…" the beast finally whispered. 

"To burn me?" Jon offered with a small smirk. 

"Unfortunately, no. I feel I should listen to you. They did murder my mother… If she hadn't escaped, they would have made her their slave. Perhaps they should be punished for their crime..."

Jon felt excitement growing inside him. 

"But how do you imagine it will happen?" the dragon asked with slight annoyance. "That I will ever allow you to treat me like Targaryens did their dragons? I will not serve you." 

"I would never ask you to" Jon shook his head. "You are intelligent; you have a mind of your own. I would like you to work with me. I can communicate with you, something that no one else can. I will help you and you will help me. I want you to be my partner, maybe one day you will be my friend?" Jon offered weakly. "You don't have to be alone anymore."

The dragon moved away slowly and laughed. 

"You are amusing, human child…" 

"It was just an offer," Jon exhaled slowly. "I will give you time to think about it. Can I visit you tomorrow?" 

The dragon grumbled but slowly nodded his giant head. Jon smiled at the gesture.

"Thank you," he said sincerely. "You don't have to see me out. I will find my way!" he said over his shoulder and for a moment he thought that the dragon actually chuckled. 

* * *

Jon was sure that the whole Island was there to witness his third journey to the cave. Before he walked inside, Vera took him in a tight embrace and patted his back. He accepted her gesture gladly. Arthur, of course, had offered to come with him, his proposal earning him a snort from the tiny woman. When Jon left them, his two friends were still bickering. 

The dragon was waiting for him in the main cave; awaken and alert. 

"Hello, Light," Jon smiled, putting down the torch he carried. 

"Why do you keep calling me that?" the dragon grumbled almost petulantly and Jon blushed, feeling silly.

"Sorry. People call you the Cannibal, but I don't like that name. You said your mother used to call you Light, but if you want…" 

"Mother didn't only call me that, she mostly called me her child," the mighty dragon said slowly. "But I am no child anymore. Light sounds quite good; although not frightening enough." 

"My name is Jon, by the way…" the boy said biting on his lower lip, waving tentatively, which only caused the dragon to tilt his head. 

He instantly put his hand down feeling like an idiot. _Who waves at a dragon?_ He was glad about the creature's grumbling. Speaking about the name of his choosing was a good sign, right? 

"You know, Light in Valyrian is Onos. Do you like it?" 

The dragon shook his head. 

"I don't want a Valyrian slave name!" he growled.

‘ _Note to self. The giant fire breathing lizard is touchy on the subject of Valyria. Do not bring it up.’_ Jon thought to himself. 

"Okay, then", Jon said trying to placate the dragon, as he walked a bit closer to him. "How about the language of the first men? Those are their lands." 

"How would it sound?" 

"Valasin," Jon said slowly.

At least he was almost sure that it was the right word. 

The dragon tilted his head. 

"It has a nice edge…" the beast said slowly. "But no diminutives!" 

Jon smiled broadly. 

"Deal! Does it mean you have considered my offer?" 

"Indeed, I have." 

"And what have you decided?" Jon asked feeling his heart thumping in his chest. 

Valasin lowered his head and bared his teeth. 

"I decided I shall burn as many of these ice creatures as possible on my way out of this world. But first ..." He moved his head a bit closer "… you must offer me what is a dragon's right. I have been bored for far too long. Flying from time to time and burning vermin is no challenge." 

"What do you mean?" Jon shook his head slowly, feeling his anxiety growing. 

"Fire and blood. I want great battles. I want people to run screaming thinking about my name, as they used to before my ancestors." 

The boy bit his lower lip thinking about the war for the throne, about the struggle to destroy those who would stand against him and prevent him from uniting all people against the Others. The dragon wanted to fight and Jon needed the dragon to fight for him. It looked like a perfect deal. Eventually, Jon stood a bit taller and nodded. 

"I believe I can give you that, Valasin. I shall give you the blood of my enemies. Trust me, you will be pleased. Battles are awaiting us and plenty of opponents will have to burn. But I cannot allow you to fly around mindlessly murdering innocents. Please, respect my insight. I will always clarify whom we should burn." 

The dragon sighed dramatically.

"Flesh burns the same no matter who I burn!"

Jon didn't move watching the dragon silently. Valasin finally groaned. 

"Fine! But if I get bored, I will find something to amuse myself with! Better try and..." the dragon huffed "keep me occupied."

Jon felt beads of sweat on his forehead, it was nothing more than a threat. Taking a deep breath he nodded stiffly. He took a step back and pointed at the dragon's back. 

"Would you allow it?" 

The creature kept him waiting for a few long moments but eventually nodded. 

"Don't expect me to make it easy for you though. Try a bit!" he challenged. 

Jon smiled broadly and moved closer trying to find a way to climb the enormous beast. 

* * *

"He will be fine…" Vera looked down at a warm hand that suddenly appeared on her knee. 

She looked up and glared at Arthur. 

"I know," she said with venom. 

The knight smirked and to her irritation didn't remove his hand. 

"He is extraordinary." 

"Yes, he is," she agreed. "But this beast is capricious. He will decide to eat him as far as we know. He may just trample Jon…" Vera was angry hearing that her voice was shaky with emotion. 

"He will be fine," Arthur repeated, his hand squeezing her knee. 

"If he is, we can celebrate later…" she snickered giving him a naughty look, trying to put some humor into their conversation. 

Nothing was reeling Arthur up as much as innuendos. She was expecting the man to snort and call her stupid but to her utter surprise, he only raised his eyebrow. 

"We shall see." He offered her a small smile. 

"You did not just say that!" she told him outraged, turning away, forcing herself to not look at his curled lips. 

That gesture was foreign, it didn't suit him. She wanted to give him a piece of her mind but a loud roar made her pause. They jumped to their feet quickly and looked at the entrance of the cave. The roar only grew louder and finally, people gasped when a giant shape could be seen crawling in their direction, at the entrance of the caves. Arthur took hold of his sword, probably out of habit and she clasped a hand over his elbow, as well, out of habit. 

If the beast emerged without Jon, they were doomed no matter what. 

_I should have fucked this fine man, a long time ago_ , she thought bitterly, holding Arthur's arm tighter. _So many years wasted on hating each other needlessly._

She felt her mouth hanging open when the shape became clear to everyone and the giant black beast crawled outside. People started to move away very slowly, one step after another, as to not anger the dangerous creature. No one was stupid enough to make a sudden move. The dragon roared again at them and slowly lowered his head. Vera felt tears filling her eyes and she clasped a hand over her mouth to stop a sob. 

Jon was attached to the spikes on the dragon's back and was looking at them with a triumphant and broad smile. Vera was the first one to bend a knee, still sobbing softly with pride. And soon after everyone followed. 

* * *

"That was a sign of respect," Jon explained when the dragon asked him why all the vermin was crawling. "To you; and maybe to me as well." 

The dragon contemplated the kneeling humans a bit longer, before responding to the boy. 

"I like that show of subservience; everyone should fall on their knees upon seeing me," he decided. "Now what?" he asked getting slightly bored. 

"Well, I guess you can fly a bit. Just please, don't burn them down. They are going to… serve you." 

The dragon raised his head and purred lightly. 

"I like those ideas. Of them serving me and flying both. I long to feel clouds on my scales. Get off!" he ordered and tilted his body. 

Jon was unable to slide down the wing gracefully and he hit the ground hard, landing with a loud thump. Better here than from the air, he thought bitterly. His back and ass are going to be bruised badly. 

The dragon clapped his wings and rose in the air instantly, flying above them in mere seconds with ease. Only now could Jon truly admire his size. He heard that Balerion's snout was as tall as an average man. If it was true, it meant that Valasin was at least double the size. 

Jon stood up, dusting dirt away from his clothes. Before he could truly stand, however, he almost fell over again, because Vera jumped at him and squeezed him tightly. 

"You did it!" she yelled excitedly. 

Jon smiled when she took hold of his face and loudly kissed his cheek. 

"You mad, wonderful boy!" She turned to the gathered people. "Did you see it?! Bow to your King!" she all but shouted and those who had started to stand up fell on their knees again. 

"Stop it," Jon snorted, laughing softly. "Don't be like that," Vera only smirked mischievously, brushing some locks from Jon's forehead. "The dragon will now fly freely over your lands. You have to make sure that he is always fed and taken care of!" Jon said loudly. "In exchange, he will aid us with defeating the Others. Soon we will go to war, to win back the throne of my family, so I could unite the people of Westeros, against the true enemy." 

He almost jumped at the loud shouts of encouragement that surrounded him. 

Jon turned to Vera. 

"And now, I need to be alone for a moment… I almost shit myself down there,” he whispered. 

"Better not tell them that," Vera suggested, putting an arm in the crook of his elbow and escorting him like a proud mother would, leading him to the cheering crowd. "Let's keep up the appearance of you as a formidable dragon rider. And by the way... would you talk with your winged friend, about him moving to a different location?"

Jon glared at her.

"Why would I do that?"

"Our mines are almost drained, but for obvious reasons we haven’t yet checked this part of the island,” she explained. "We could use more silver."

He didn't feel like talking about it right now, so he only shrugged his shoulders. 

He noticed that Arthur was smiling at him openly, the broadest smile Jon had seen on his face, yet. The man winked at him when Jon passed by. Jon could swear that there were some unshed tears in the knight's eyes as well. The boy nodded simply and the man answered with the same, a simple gesture somehow filled with enough pride to make Jon's heart soar. No one ever had looked at him like that. 

Jon closed his eyes briefly and looked up seeing the dragon flying over the island, his loud roars almost deafening. He shook his head. 

_I guess I have a dragon, he thought with disbelief. What the heck should I do now?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think about this chapter? I would appreciate if you share your opinion with me.


	7. Trial and Error Method

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon tries to tame his unruly dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Onar27 for beta-reading! I value every idea, suggestion and correction you made! ❤

After the first time the dragon allowed Jon to ride on his back, he had been visiting with him every day, trying to get him to agree to take him flying. It would be necessary for both him and the dragon to train in flying together, for the wars ahead, though Jon would be lying if he pretended that was the only reason.

In fact the idea of flying on the back of the dragon, no matter how terrifying it seemed, excited him and made him remember of the games he and Robb used to play - when they were younger, when they pretended to be dragonlords of Old and flew around on broomsticks. Just the thought of his brother’s face, when he would see him flying around, on an actual living dragon, made him positively giddy. 

Though meeting Valasin at the shore every day had done wonders to curb said enthusiasm. Truly, Jon found himself turning into a deeply spiritual man. The dragon's mood swings made him pray like nothing and no one ever; the beast was bloody crazy! And deeply uncooperative.

Their first real flight had ended with Jon fracturing his left leg.

He had limped to the extravagant residence the Islanders had given their almighty king, covered in mud and wincing in pain, looking very much nothing like a king. He was angry that he was unable to land with a bit of grace. It was all he could do though, when the dragon had all but rolled his giant body and Jon had to run like crazy to avoid being smashed. Afterwards, he had been forced to be on bed rest for over two weeks. He suspected the beast did it on purpose; not that he would ever say that out loud. 

It was due to boredom and the feeling of uselessness, that he found himself almost toying with the idea of accepting Eilin back into his bed during that period. So far the girl had been avoiding him, clearly shamed by her betrayal and in truth, he wished to have nothing more to do with her as well. He just couldn’t find it in himself to forgive her for fooling him.

One evening, though, she had silently entered his room and started to slowly take off her clothes. There had been a small part of him that urged him to exploit this opportunity and her desperate attempt to gain his forgiveness and find a much needed relief in the process; but that part sounded suspiciously like Theon and so he had ignored it. 

Besides it would be a cruel thing to do, for he had nothing to offer in return; he didn’t love her and he definitely didn’t see himself having a lasting relationship with her, in truth this whole thing had been a mistake he had previously promised himself not to commit. Therefore, he had decided to be a mature and honorable man and he had taken a deep breath and politely had asked her to dress up. The unshed tears he could see in her eyes, though, proved he had not voiced his request as tactfully as he should have.

"I messed everything up. It could have been good but it won't be. I am really sorry. You forgave Vera, so why can't you forgive me?!" She was about to cry, so Jon closed his eyes momentarily.

He knew what she meant, but he couldn't honestly promise her anything. He had been waiting to feel some fairytale like emotion in his heart but he had nothing more but slight fondness toward Eilin, with constant suspiciousness underneath. 

Why, oh why had he allowed himself to return her affections? Had he been so blinded with the relief of no longer being a bastard that he had turned into an entitled asshole? He couldn't control his lust and had ended up hurting this girl in a process. For all that he had strived to be anything but what people back in Wintefell had been whispering he was, it was when he had shed the cloak of the bastard, that he had found himself turning into the sinful and lustful creature that Catelyn Stark always accused him of being. 

"I understand," Eilin murmured, avoiding his gaze and buttoning down her dress. Her lower lip was trembling; she was bravely fighting down her tears. "You cannot love someone you don't trust."

"Eilin, please…" he sighed heavily. 

"I understand, really. I am just angry at myself. I could have lost my dignity along the way, ready to beg for your forgiveness!" She stood up fully and looked at him proudly. "Am I dismissed?" she asked sharply.

 _I didn't invite you here in the first place_ , a tiny voice in his head said but he wisely remained quiet.

"Eilin," he started pleadingly again but she only glared at him more.

"I assume you will call for me if the need strikes you, am I correct, Your Grace?"

Jon felt like the lowest of scumbags. He knew deep down, that even if he had tried, he would have been unable to fall in love with her. And yet he had dishonored this girl and he had to face the music; it was his fault she suffered. Clearing his throat, he outstretched his hand, gently calling Eilin back inside and to him, as he lied on the bed.

"Let's talk about it calmly," he offered wondering what to do next. 

He had sweet talked a fire breathing beast and yet now he found he would have preferred a dozen conversations with Valasin, than with an angry girl he had dishonored. But he owed her to at least try and explain himself.

The Gods had mercy on him though, because before he could come up with some lame excuse of an apology, someone knocked at the door. Jon almost fell from the bed, in order to move away from Eilin. He grimaced, feeling a sharp pain in his fractured leg. 

Vera didn't wait for an invite; instead he barged in like she owned the place.   
"Oh," she said looking pointedly at Eilin. "I didn't know you had a guest, your Grace."

Jon could feel his shoulders sagging with relief. He was certain she somehow did.

"I just came over to check how his Grace is faring," Eilin said smoothly standing up. 

Jon decided to only smile politely, feeling uncomfortable with the furious looks two women were exchanging. 

"Our King needs his rest," Vera replied coldly.   
Eilin smiled tightly, recognizing the dismissal, as her face turned wary. 

"Of course,” she nodded. "My King," she turned to him with a dazing smile. "Hopefully, we will speak more later."  
Eilin had barely closed the door behind her, when Vera had turned to him with an exasperated huff. 

"Good timing," he joked weakly. 

Vera shook her head.  
"Why are you inviting this girl back into your bed?" the woman asked, clearly displeased. 

Jon blushed under her sharp gaze.

"I did not invite her into my bed!" he replied, his face burning red. "She…I mistreated her and…"

"Jon", Vera sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "No offence, but Eilin is at least ten times more experienced than you. If you believed her crocodile tears, shame on you."  
He only gaped at her, not knowing what to say.  
"We are at Hidden Island. This is not Westeros, with its prissy Septas and their stupid little book that won’t allow people to live. We follow a different set of rules. Not that those Westerosi high born girls won’t line up to get you to bed them to take advantage, when it becomes known who you are, mind you. But our culture does not attach strings to physical relationships; not if both parties don’t want to attach them. "

"But..." he started weakly.

"If you would allow me to give you much needed advice on this, I would say you ought to put it behind you." Vera pinned him with a serious gaze. "You should ask yourself, instead, who could possibly inform Adam about your escape." He felt a cold dread in the pit of his stomach. Surely not? "She was one of my favorites, but still Eilin is ambitious. You are a king now, Jon. It would beneficial for her to tie you to her side. And not only her. I understand that with your upbringing, you probably never had to really worry about this before, but you need to be careful, Jon. I’m not going to be a hypocrite and tell you not to bed whoever you want…"

"I won’t…" he mumbled. 

"…but women and people in general are going to try to take advantage of your position; of you", she finished, ignoring his interruption. 

He stayed silent after that, his eyes firmly on his bed, as he tried to get his blush under control. He felt like a chastised child. He was a child, he realized and yet he couldn’t afford to be; not anymore, not if he wanted to be king of anything. He thought of Robb and Theon and how they didn’t hesitate to visit the Wintertown’s brothel... And still he remembered Robb at the feasts with visiting lords and their daughters and how Lady Stark always cautioned him on how many dances he should have with which girl and how he should not show any excessive favor to one and not to another, while still not betrothed. But all he had done was share a dance with Lord Manderly’s youngest granddaughter, Wylla, once and even that had been considered scandalous by Lady Stark. He just had no idea how to deal with what Vera was telling him. 

Vera took pity on him eventually and patted his knee.   
"Who am I to tell my King what to do?" she sighed dramatically, then. "Perhaps you need a man's advice."   
She left not long after that, though her words stayed with him. 

Arthur, whom he confided with later, about how out of depth he felt with the whole situation, shrugged and simply told him that some men were not made for a romance. He gave himself as an example. 

"You have no right to force anything on her, Your Grace," Arthur said sharply. "And she doesn't have such right as well. And...Well, truly women are a bit of a mystery. They are just crazy creatures we will never understand. Thankfully, I don't have to worry about it..."

It was not exactly the consolation he was looking for, but still, he was thankful to Ser Arthur for even entertaining the conversation and trying to softly guide him. While Jon was pouring out his heart over a bottle of strong wine, it occurred to him that he could never have been able to talk like that with Ned Stark. It only drove home, just how blind he had been, attributing Lord Stark’s standoffish behavior towards him to his baseborn status, while it had been the simple truth that he was not his actual child.   
He covered his face and chuckled. The famous knight raised his eyebrows questionably. 

"I am trying to imagine what Lord Stark would have said, had I gone to him for advice about my intimate life. He wouldn’t have wanted to hear a word of that, I assume," Jon explained still chuckling. 

Arthur rolled his eyes, pouring them more wine.  
"I assume you are right."

"What do you think… he would do?" Jon asked, knowing very well he didn’t have to clarify what he meant. The boy cleared his throat anxiously, waiting for Arthur's answer. 

"He would have sat you down just like I did. But surely, his advice would have been far better. Rhaegar was smarter than me; smarter than most people really."

"Tell me something else… Aside from how he met my mother, I know nothing about him. That's all I ever asked you about prince Rheagar," Jon admitted somehow shyly. 

His heart was torn between sadness and anger, every time he was thinking about his parents; especially his father. Some part of Jon still blamed him for everything. True, he wasn’t a kidnapper and a rapist, as the stories he heard growing up painted him as, but he was a man grown and bound by his duty and vows. And yet, he foolishly threw everything away like a green boy. 

Arthur smiled broadly hearing Jon's inquiry and nodded happily.

"Maybe, I should start from our first meeting?" he offered. 

Jon nodded raising his cup and taking a gulp of wine, listening attentively. 

When Vera came to find them it was long past midnight and they were very much in a drunken stupor. She decided to leave them be, but vowed to always keep in her mind the picture of Arthur, standing in the middle of the room, with a bowl on his head, broomstick under his arm, and chair between his legs. Was he trying to mimic a lance fight? Jon was holding his sides, almost tearing up with laughter. She rolled her eyes at the scene and ordered servants to collect them later and transport their King and his, currently useless, guard to their rooms. She very much doubted that after all this wine they had consumed they would be able to walk on their own.   
The next day both Arthur and Jon made the vow to never drink so much ever again. 

* * *

By the time his leg was healed, Jon was ready to jump into his duties and training once again. No one went easy on him, which he could very much appreciate.

Aside from training with Arthur and learning about economics and battle tactics from learned Islanders eager to impart their knowledge to him, Vera was forcing him to learn to control his reactions. At first, he had laughed at her but later her lessons proved to be downright grueling. She knew how to make him jump up from his seat in anger or shake with cold fury. Every time he lost his temper she would smack his head hard ordering him coldly to school his features. She had him seated in front of a mirror, whispering awful things about him, Lord and Lady Stark, Arya, and even his dead mother. She was presenting scenarios of battles and impossible choices, making him pick who he would rather sacrifice to achieve his goal. At first he wasn’t exactly sold on the whole exercise, since he felt that she was slowly trying to swing his morals and turn him into someone far colder than he was, but eventually he had to concede the point and even appreciate the changes.

As Vera had pointed out an emotional ruler would sooner rather than later end up as a dead ruler. He couldn't afford to be reigned by his emotions, not while having a fire breathing dragon at hand. 

Aside from that, she also insisted he should learn more about civilized activities; Jon was not sure if she was calling him a savage or not and whether he should be offended. Thankfully, though, she had dropped the dance lessons, when Jon almost broke her toes in the process. She had called him a lost cause in this department and stormed off limping. When she had disappeared Jon had silently shaken Arthur’s hand. The knight was the one to suggest that the boy should epically fail during his dancing lessons, since to him it was obvious that Jon would rather spend his time with a sword than swirling to the music. Jon just hoped that Vera would never learn about their trickery. 

After a month of avoiding the dragon, Jon decided it was time to try and mount him again. His second flight with Valasin turned out even worse than the first one. It left him completely soaked and freezing, because the dragon decided to take a dive into the sea with Jon still attached to his spikes. The beast emerged while Jon was left under the water, struggling to swim to the shore, fighting the high waves. Jon was cursing the giant fire breathing lizard, when people helped him to get on the boat. He could have drowned. 

"Maybe you should stop trying for now?" Vera suggested weakly, while he peeled off his frozen clothes. 

"Never!" Jon said with malice trying to stop the clattering of his teeth. "I'd rather die than let him win!" 

The woman grimaced hearing his cold dogged tone and left him to soak himself in a hot bath.

On their third meeting, Valasin had prepared something special. He greeted Jon almost cordially and the boy optimistically thought that the dragon was in a good mood, not really noticing that the beast was giddy, probably itching for a chance to dishearten Jon once and for all.

"I found out something that can be beneficial during a battle," the dragon lured him. "Sit between ninth and tenth spike." 

Jon furrowed his eyebrows at this strange request, but decided to dutifully follow the suggestion. He was seated far lower than usual, his legs barely embracing the area. 

"Lay down," the dragon commanded. 

"What?" Jon asked.

"I suggest being as flat as possible! And hide your arms."

Confused, Jon listened and let out a yell a moment later startled, when a loud swish sounded and he was engulfed. He slowly moved his head to the side and realized that dozens of hidden spikes emerged from under the dragon’s scales, covering Jon from above his knees to over his head. He was hidden inside his own spiky armor.

"This is incredible" he murmured into hot scales, in amazement. "No arrow will reach me", he mused. "Well, aside from my calves… though, my movements are very limited."   
He tried to sit up a bit, but the space was tight and he was unable to.   
"Incredible," he repeated. "Can you hide them and make them re appear at will?"

The dragon was quiet.

"Valasin?" he inquired, only to gasp, when the beast started to move to the edge of a cliff; he could feel his heartbeat accelerate. "Valasin, wait!"

"At least you won't fall" the dragon purred and with mounting horror Jon realized that nothing good was going to happen, from the dragon’s ominous tone; he almost felt panicked. "I guess thanks to that I no longer have to limit myself, right?"

"Valasin, please don't…"

"I won't lose you when I do this"

The dragon dived rapidly, the wind moving Jon up, crashing his back on the spikes. Thankfully, his own prison remained closed and Jon didn't fall.   
_Oh gods, please don't…_

Valasin showed him no mercy. He was swirling, doing barrels and diving constantly, turning on his back and flying like that for what felt like an eternity. Jon was screaming, crying and he was forced once to swallow his vomit. Vera later told him that the hellish flight had lasted for over an hour. 

Afterward, Jon only crawled from the dragon's back, forced to stagger for quite a distance, because his legs failed him. He ignored the beast's cruel laugh and just silently dragged his bruised and terrified body to his room.

The next day he went to meet the dragon again.   
Valasin was surprised upon seeing Jon; especially, since the boy stood proudly, with a brave face on, glaring at the beast, challengingly.

"Fuck you!" Jon spat, shaking with fury.   
The dragon growled and lowered his head threateningly, but the boy did not back down.   
"We are doing this together! That was the deal! I won’t let you fly into battle on your own," Jon shouted, feeling his body almost vibrating with anger. "Do you know anything about battle tactics? How do trebuchets work? I can't allow you to fly into fight blindly!"

The beast stared at him, silently, for a while."

Of course I know what it is!" he eventually growled, but Jon could easily hear some hesitation in his tone. "It is… a battle…" Valasin wavered. "It matters not! Whatever it is, I will burn it!"

Jon sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.   
"You are gigantic and perhaps nothing can pierce your skin. But since you are gigantic, do you know what? You are fucking slow! You are an enormous target! You proved yesterday, that you can do barrels and dive in quickly, but will you know where to turn when hundreds of arrows and stones will be aimed at you? I don't want you to end up dead like your mother!"

Valasin was quiet for a long moment, looking down. He almost looked reprimanded. 

"Move your stupid ass over here," he eventually said coldly.

"Look, Valasin…" Jon started more gently, but the dragon surged forward and roared at him so loudly that Jon fell down. 

"I said get over here before I change my mind, you irritating bug!"   
Jon did so, on shaking legs.   
"I am listening," the dragon mocked. "Oh, wise human child! What should I do?"

"Very well," Jon took a deep breath. "I would like us to train to take off first. How quickly can we do it? Do you need to get a running start? How fast and how high can you go? And next…I would like us to train dodging flying objects. I will ask people to throw some bags on us using catapults."

To his surprise, the dragon didn't complain.   
It seemed almost like somehow, Jon had managed to gain the dragon's respect, with his foolish bravery and insistence. In a way, he had tamed the dragon. Of course, he would never say it that out loud, too worried that Valasin might hear it and decide to eat him in one swallow. 

But the more time they spend together, the more Vera was insisted that the beast was changing.

"His scales are shinier!" she told Jon one day, watching the dragon flying over the docks. 

"Reflections of the light," Jon rebuffed. 

"His wings are getting darker too, aren't as translucent as they used to be."

"He sunbathed," the boy joked. 

"I wonder if they got harder…" she went on clearly not deigning to pay attention to Jon's mocking.   
Eventually, Vera turned to him and crossed her arms.   
"And what about your physical changes?" 

He was changing, he knew that. He was simply growing, eating good food, and he had never before trained as hard as he did with Arthur. Ser Rodrik was a dedicated man and while Jon was under his tutelage he had put him, Robb and Theon through their paces, but he was no Sword of the Morning. It was no wonder he was building up muscles and stamina, but Vera was looking into it more than she should, obviously trying to suggest that it was a magic of their bond working. Jon was very skeptical.   
"I am telling you…"

"Would you stop?" Jon finally snapped at her. "There is no bond between us. Please, drop it."

"And the event from last week? Are you trying to say that it was nothing?"

It hadn’t been, Jon had to admit. He had been awakened up by a horrific nightmare, of him dying, pierced by the ice spear of a blue-eyed monster. The pain had been real; the feeling of his skin and organs being impaled had been real. He had turned himself to a ball on his bed screaming silently, unable to stop the impossible pain in his left side. A moment later a loud crashing thud had shaken the residence, when the dragon had landed on the roof and had started to rip the building open. 

Vera had run to Jon and had been somehow successful into dragging him from his bed and outside, for Valasin to see that his rider was alright. Jon had barely been able to stand, still reeling from the cold and the pain, but he had called for the dragon to stop. Upon seeing him, Valasin had crawled closer and to everyone's shock, he had gently taken Jon's shaking body into his claws and had flown away.

Jon had woken up the next day, not remembering much from the previous night’s events, nestled comfortably onto the hot scales of his dragon, secured deep into the dragon's lair. All that Valasin had to say to him them, was that Jon would be fine. He had vowed to never let any White Walker come close to him. Jon had only snuggled into the warmth of the dragon more, deciding not to ask how he knew about the details of his dream. 

Jon was shaken from his musings, when the woman opened her mouth, no doubt planning to argue further. 

"Drop the topic! Please, just, focus more on Essos, than on my so-called magical abilities."

As always, at the mention of his Targaryen family, Vera grew solemn. 

"We found no trace of them. Still," she admitted regretfully. "Don't allow Arthur to put hopeful thoughts in your head. Your father's siblings are no doubt dead, rotting somewhere in the gutter. Even if they are alive, you owe them nothing. Don't allow this to swing you off your path." 

The young man watched Vera carefully. She was against sending the search party to Essos, always telling him how slim the chances were, how unlikely it was that they would succeed where Robert Baratheon's spies failed. She surely wasn't hiding something from him, was she? 

"They are my family. I owe them to at least look for them. There is no harm in trying. One man, in every big city in Essos. That's all I expect. At least…" he sighed, turning back to his letter "… our consciences are going to be clear, when we inform Arthur that we did all in our power."

Lady Vera stood up, tensely nodding.

"Vera?" Jon asked when she was almost at the door, not raising his gaze from what he was writing. "I truly hope you are not sabotaging the searches."

"I will follow your orders, but don't expect me to put my heart into it," she said boldly and Jon raised his head. "You don't need them and whoever and whatever cannot benefit you, I deem not important." Vera looked outside the window grimacing. "I just can't shrug off the worry. How would the beast react at meeting the Valyrians he so hates? Don't you worry he may become aggressive, if we present other Targaryens to him? Especially ones with the silver hair and purple eyes he has seen and fought before?" 

"I will take care of that," Jon smiled to calm her down. "Perhaps the fact they are my family will be enough to calm him a bit? If by some miracle we do locate them, then neither Viserys nor Daenerys are going to have dragons, right?" he snorted.

"Yes," Vera smiled tersely. "It's very unlikely."

* * *

In the next six moons, his relationship with Valasin evolved into something ridiculous. He felt like a suitor trying to persistently woo a capricious maiden. The dragon was horribly moody and always fishing for compliments but otherwise, he had been behaving. He had burned nothing down so far and only occasionally flew low over the city, scaring its populace. Jon had to admit he had even grown to like their bickering and squabbling. He could never have suspected that he would share his sense of humor with an ancient dragon.

Sadly, Valasin was constantly complaining about boredom, all the time threatening Jon he may one day decide to 'cough a bit in the direction of the city'. How did he survive so many years in a cave? Oh yes, he had been mostly sleeping…

Thankfully, an opportunity to placate the dragon and to allow him to play a bit, had presented itself.

_I am thinking about it so coldly…Careful Jon, you don't want to lose your morals, you don't want to start looking at people like they are nothing more but a means to an end. You don't want to start looking at humans just like Valasin does…_

And yet, the people who had been burned deserved it. Jon felt no real remorse for sacrificing them to the bloodthirsty dragon. He was only slightly ashamed of how much he had enjoyed bringing them to their end. 

When Vera informed him that the boat had been spotted near their borders, probably being damaged by the rocks, Jon had instantly ordered her to send a small ship to escort the newcomers into their northern docks. He had thought it to be a good opportunity to work a bit on his royal persona.

It was sadly not his polite side that came out into view. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I had planned to give you one long chapter but later decided to split it in half. Therefore, enjoy the first part earlier. The second part will be posted over the weekend, so please, forgive me for this cliffhanger... Jon and his dragon will finally wreak havoc together.
> 
> BTW, which approach do you prefer: shorter chapters updated more frequently or rather longer and posted weekly or every two weeks?
> 
> I had so much fun writing about this asshole of a dragon, I hope you enjoyed reading it! Let me know what you think about the whole 'taming process '!


	8. Fire and Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dragon demands fire and blood.
> 
> Warning: graphic description of violence and mention of sexual assault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Onar27 for beta-reading! I value every idea, suggestion and correction you made! ❤

* * *

Cursed shores.

He had never seen fog so thick, rocks so sharp, poking from the waves everywhere. The wind made them change their course and all Filim could do was watch their ship smash into rocks. Their way of transportation was damaged and he was sure they were going to sink on those forsaken shores. He was elated when a small boat sailed closer and informed them that they were granted entrance to the marina. 

An elderly man announced, in a clipped tone, that they had to follow him closely. The Islander looked them up and down and smiled the next moment, in the ugliest way Filim had ever seen.  
"A year ago, we would have let you drown..." he murmured under his tone. "But he is merciful, you are lucky." Filim tensed when he heard a soft scream coming from under the deck. The Islander had to hear it as well because he paused briefly and chuckled suddenly. "Or maybe not so much..." The Essosi paled slightly hearing the murmured jab.

They were asked to hand over their swords and daggers and the man decided to do so without complaint; not that he had any other choice in the matter, they would sink within hours without help. One of his crew members was almost begging him not to do so though, claiming that there was something evil in the air, something only waiting to prey on them. 

"It's the fog. There is something evil in the fog," the superstitious man insisted and at one point, even Filim had to admit something was giving him the chills. He looked up, but could not see the sky. He could barely see the end of the flag up the pole but he could have sworn that something was watching him, silently gliding above the milky curtain. Banishing such foolish thoughts, the Essosi, decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth and simply told his man to shut up. 

But by the time Filim was looking at the gathering of people, enough to fill a square near the abandoned marina, he was wondering what kind of a nightmare they had stumbled upon. These people were eerily quiet, pale, and wearing dark clothes. They were more like ghosts than living creatures. He was trying to read something from their expression, but they were like unemotional shells that only resembled human beings. Only the young man at the front, flanked by a short woman and another menacing-looking and intimidating man was smiling at him politely.

"Welcome to Hidden Island. I heard your ship got damaged?" the young man asked softly. "I hope neither of your men was hurt."

The Essosi cleared his throat. 

"No, we are fine, my lord." 

Only some of his cargo got slightly hurt but that was an acceptable loss... 

"You speak to a king, not a lord," the warrior at the boy's side corrected sharply. 

Filim smiled tersely. Fucking Hidden Island. It was known as one of the biggest mysteries in Westeros. Why did he allow his greed to cloud his judgment so badly? Why did he sail to the north of Westeros? The Island of Naath had hundreds of people easy to steal. He wanted exotic looking women to sell and now he could very well end up being killed by those weird silent people. Their ship was damaged, they were surrounded and on top of that, they were slavers. And slavery was banished in Westeros. Well, at least in name; Filim knew some brothels employed slaves and disguised them as willing workers.

"I apologize. I didn't know… your Grace. I am Filim Tristarion. I would like to thank you sincerely for escorting us to shore. We will fix our boat as quickly as possible and move forward…"

The king in question only waved him off dismissively, but the woman leaned closer to the boy and whispered something to his ear. He was listening to her intensely, his eyes looking the Essosi up and down. The slaver felt a slight tremor running down his spine. The boy was still observing him, his gaze void of any serious emotion, and eventually nodded shortly at the woman.

"I assume you are merchants…I hope that the impact didn't mess up with your cargo?" the young man asked, clearly faking some worry. 

Filim felt beads of sweat covering his brow. They knew somehow. The man who escorted them ashore had probably guessed. He gulped, looking around. They were unarmed and all but surrounded by the citizens of this accursed Island. 

"It is fine, your Grace," he assured quickly.

The boy tilted his head, observing him as a curious bird would. It felt like an unnatural motion to Filim, too inhuman and more reptile like. 

"Are you sure? I wonder what you have to offer. Since you are here and are not going to leave us anytime soon…"

Filim felt his heart lose a beat. 

"…until we help you fix your boat, I can at least take a look. Perhaps we can come to an understanding?" 

The slaver exhaled resigned. He could deny it but what would he do next? They were at their mercy no matter what. 

"I am not a simple merchant, your Grace," he said slowly, taking the risk to reveal the truth. "My line of business may be frowned upon here, in Westeros."

"We are not in Westeros though," the boy interrupted, smiling at him almost jovially. "We follow a different set of rules."

Filim turned to his lieutenant. The other man, Aro, only shrugged. What other choice did they have? 

"You probably suspect what I do…" he hesitated. 

The boy nodded and smiled encouragingly.

"Indeed. Don't worry, we are very…" He turned to the woman at his side and raised eyebrows "…hospitable. You can count on a warm or even hot welcome, no matter what," the boy promised, with a chuckle. The woman smiled at the boy - king almost seductively and also turned her gaze toward Filim. 

The Essosi took a deep breath and gave a signal to bring over their cargo.

The Islanders were waiting in silence, while Filim was almost squirming under their cold gazes. He tried his best not to sweat. He had a very bad feeling about this. 

Although, when the group of girls and young boys were brought from their boat, walking slowly with their ankles bound by chains, he noticed a small smirk on the king's lips. He had his eyes fixed on the sky, almost like he was praying. The boy looked genuinely pleased and his gaze shone with something that looked like anticipation. Filim was ready to thank the Gods. Perhaps, this young man was someone he could reason with? The slaver smiled optimistically.

"Pretty, aren't they? I provide the best for the best brothels across Essos," he said, putting on the mask of a salesman. 

The king turned his gaze back to them and took a few steps closer to inspect the girls and children presented to him more closely.

"The girls, I understand," he said slowly. "But those young boys?"

Filim shifted uncomfortably. 

"Some of the clients have very specific tastes," he explained softly.

"I see," the boy replied slowly, nodding his head. 

He paused in front of a blonde girl, who was desperately trying to hide and disappear. He was clearly judging her, his face still neutral. 

"Our community is small. We mingle between each other and sadly, it causes some… fertility issues," he informed him and then turned back to the dark-haired woman, he left behind. "We could use some fresh blood around, don't you think? Maybe we could strike a deal with this nice merchant?"

The pale woman looked thoughtful for a moment, but eventually nodded her agreement. 

Filim was ready to shed tears of relief. Stranger requests had been made. If those odd people wanted broodmares, so be it. He smiled broadly. 

"I can provide you with some fresh blood, your Grace! Would you like to take a look?" 

The king was watching the girl with a curious look on his face. Filim couldn't really interpret his expression. 

She definitely piqued his interest, so he should be allowed to take a better look, the slaver thought. He risked a step forward and ripped the girl's dress open. For a moment he thought that the king will stop him but he only bit on his lower lip. His eyes were unchanged, cold, and uninterested. The girl tried to cover herself but Filim grasped her elbow harshly. She had learned her lesson once and she didn't dare to fight back. 

"She is nicely shaped, round hips…" he said, feeling right in his element as he took hold of the girl's chin and forced her to open her mouth, "…good teeth. She is healthy; surely she will prove to be fertile."

The king of the Islanders looked at the girl up and down. 

"But not untouched?" he inquired, sounding clearly displeased.

Something in his voice had shifted and Essosi worried that he perhaps shouldn't have revealed her like that. Filim felt his smile falter. He glanced down, at the girl's tights, seeing a trickle of dried blood and semen slightly above her knee. Fucking Aro, he could have at least cleaned her up. Then again, how could they have known she would be presented?

"She… was a bit unruly at first. We needed to break her into submission," he said slowly. 

To his utter surprise, the young man smiled at him. He could tell it was a fake smile, but a smile nonetheless. He turned around and looked again at the pale woman standing nearby.

"Do you hear, Vera?" the king asked lightly. "They had to break her into submission."

"What an efficient tool of education," the woman said sounding bored beyond reason.

"If you want a virgin, your Grace, this one…" Filim started and moved to a younger girl but the king waved him off. 

The Essosi man felt his hands starting to shake. 

"No, I like this one. How much?" the king's voice was as cold as the fog surrounding the Island.

"How could I ask you to pay?" Filim opened his arms broadly, thinking quickly. "You allow my people to mend our boat at your shores and offer me a deal. I should thank you…"

"A gift then! Wonderful," he told him, raising one eyebrow. 

The slaver watched him as he knelt in front of the girl and picked up her dress. He moved it over her hips and gently asked her to put her arms in the sleeves. The girl did so without complaint. 

"What is your name?" the king asked the girl in a hushed tone but she only lowered her head and tried to move away, mumbling something. 

Filim almost growled at her, unclasping his whip. Stupid girl. If she irritates this strange boy – king, he may change his mind and just order his people to kill them. 

"You were asked a question!" he raised the whip, but gasped when he felt a hard grip over his wrist. 

The boy's hand had moved so fast that he hadn’t even seen it.

"Now, I believe we made a deal. She belongs to me and mine will not be hit." 

Filim felt ready to turn around and run. No one had ever given him a glare with so much controlled fury, a look so cold and heated at the same time. He only nodded weakly. 

"How much for all of them?"

"All of them?" he repeated and the king only nodded releasing his wrist. "Well, I take five gold coins for a girl and seven for a boy," he told the man but quickly corrected himself. "But for you, your Grace, I shall offer a discount. Perhaps…"

"That's fine by me," the man only shrugged. He turned to the guards standing nearby. "Bring the gold," he ordered. 

The men obeyed almost instantly, still silent. 

Filim couldn't believe his luck. From all places and all people of Westeros, he had to crush at the shores of a reasonable man!

"How big is your party?"

"Excuse me?' the slaver asked.

"How many people do you have in your crew?"

"Forty-two," Filim said slowly wondering why he was asked about it. 

The king only nodded slowly, seemingly pleased with his answer. Meanwhile, one of the guards handed his king a satchel. Filim could hear the song of golden coins. It was the sweetest he had ever heard.

"Perhaps, you should bring me more," the boy said thoughtfully, passing Filim the satchel. 

The man took hold of it eagerly, but the boy still didn’t loosen his grip. 

"Maybe younger children next time?" the king suggested lightly. 

The older man just couldn't brush off the feeling that he was being toyed with. That the young man was taunting him, playing with him as a cat plays with a mouse. 

Filim smiled ingratiatingly, hoping that his face looked convincing. 

"I can arrange it," he vowed.

"Good," the boy took his hand away and Filim snatched the gold readily. "Vera, escort our new citizens to the baths. Feed them, make sure they are uninjured. And the girl…" he hesitated. "…to my residence. I am sure you know what kind of treatment is required."

The woman, clearly named Vera, walked closer and led the shaking girl away. The Essosi felt his stomach recoil upon seeing this Vera's predatory smile, while she was passing him. Other guards goaded the slaves somewhere, like they were nothing but sheep.

Soon only the Islanders' king and Filim's people remained on the square and he could finally breathe.

"It's a good feeling, isn't it?" the young man asked quietly. "The relief that you feel. You are so happy that I want to work with you, so relieved that I will not condemn slavery… There is nothing worse than crushed hopes." 

The boy tilted his head and smirked, the strange threat in his face making Filim lose all color from his face. He opened his mouth but couldn’t say a word. 

"Who do you take me to be? Someone, who’s amused when a raped girl is shown to him? I would gladly run my sword through you but…" the young man kept on softly, his smile growing bigger with every second, as he started to roll his sleeves up. "… I cannot allow myself to miss the opportunity. And honestly, you deserve worse than a quick death!" 

The slaver jumped, when he heard a loud roar coming from above him. He looked up and felt ready to faint, seeing a giant black shape covering almost the entirety of the sky. It was impossible. It was impossible that he was seeing a dragon! But the giant monster landed heavily, behind the boy and started to crawl closer. He could feel the ground shaking under its heavy steps. The beast was as real as the boy standing before him. Filim found himself unable to move, completely paralyzed with fear. 

"My wonderful friend here deserves some entertainment."

The dragon moved its head closer to the boy and tilted it and the slaver was reminded of the boy making the same movement with his head. They were completely different creatures and yet, the king's moves were reptile-like as well. Both he and the dragon had moved their heads in the same manner, even their eyes held the same look of cold and burning fury. The king turned and moved closer to the beast. 

"See? Men such as this garbage deserve your flames. Slavers, rapists, murderers… Men evil and rotten. What?"   
The boy shook his head. Filim felt himself shake, as he realized that the boy was clearly insane as he was behaving like he could converse with the beast.   
"I can't believe our luck but yes. Can I ask you to leave this one for me though?" The boy pointed straight at Filim.   
The slaver thought he should be glad, he would not be killed by the beast but somehow, the prospect of being at this mad boy's mercy terrified him even more.   
"Oh, he personally offended me. You take care of fire and I shall assure a bit of blood." 

The king glanced at the slaver for the last time, spreading his arms in a mocking apology. 

"Forgive me but it seems our trade deal has no way to bloom. But as I promised, you can count on the warm welcome," the boy-king said and looked at the dragon with a mischievous smile. "Enjoy yourself, Valasin."

The slaver tried to run to the boat but there was no point really. There was no escape from this monster and its strange master. 

* * *

Vera was gently guiding the girl forward. She was shaking horribly and resisting every step. 

"Trust me," the woman sighed. "You want to be as far away, from that square as possible, my dear."   
The blonde girl turned to look at her, with big blue eyes filled with tears.

"Please, don't hand me over to him," she begged quietly. "I can do other things; I can clean, work in the field, I am strong, very strong." 

"Oh, sweetheart," Vera said gently, taking hold of the girl's hands. "Our King will not harm you. We are just going to look over you, make sure you are not bleeding internally and I will give you a potion to assure…" she hesitated "…that those men didn't hurt you even worse. Our King will not touch you, do not worry."

The girl stared at Vera with shock, still shaking her head and suddenly she froze altogether, like a stubborn mule would; denying moving an inch. It was no surprise she didn't believe a word Vera had just said. They were already at the hill, so Vera took hold of the girl's arms and turned her toward the docks. She noticed the girl's eyes widening when she saw the giant beast appearing from above the clouds and landing heavily next to Jon. The scene below was clearly visible. 

"See?" Vera whispered softly.   
The dragon was moving slowly toward the slavers, many of them running toward their boat, foolishly trying to escape. She could see Jon stopping the slavers' leader and knocking him on the ground. It was a miracle he lasted so long without beating the man. She was proud that he controlled himself so well.   
"He will take care of these horrible men that hurt you," she tried to comfort the girl.

Meanwhile, Valasin breathed fire; far smaller than he could, which instantly set a few men aflame. The slavers turned to human torches fell down screaming loudly. He was toying with them, making sure they would burn slowly, not perish within seconds, she realized with dread. Vera focused more on Jon, though. He was beating the Essosi man bloody, keeping him on the ground and punching his face repeatedly. 

"Idiot," she spat. 

The girl turned to her, her eyes big and uncertain. 

"Do you see this? He has no gloves on, nothing to protect his knuckles. He is going to regret this blood bath later."

"Gruesome, don't you think?" 

She jumped, hearing Arthur's voice. He had sneaked up on them quietly, like a ghost. Vera didn't answer his mocking question.She was looking down, grimacing mildly upon seeing Jon taking hold of the slaver's head. He was rapidly hitting it on the ground, methodically, like a man on a mission.

Meanwhile, his dragon turned lazily toward the boat and she could see the slavers on it running to hide beneath the deck. The beast took off, hovering slightly above the ship. Vera waited for a burst of fire but the beast decided to land on the deck instead and started to rip the wood with his giant jaws. The mere impact of his landing crushed the wood, and most likely whatever people had stayed above in the process. Only then, when his monstrous head almost disappeared inside, she heard the distinct sound of the beast’s lethal breath of fire and flames engulfed the ship. Vera could picture the scene in her imagination; herded people, hiding under the deck, hoping to find shelter. If what Jon had said about the dragon was true, and Vera had no reason to doubt it, the beast surely was mocking his prey before he burned them. 

Bugs. That's what humans were to him. 

"Your teachings of controlling his emotions are coming out amazingly," Arthur teased. 

Vera was ready to hit him.

"Jon is doing well!"

"He was only keeping those feelings from his face, not banishing them from his heart. You and I know that…"

He was interrupted when the girl moved from her arms and knelt on the ground, vomiting violently. Vera groaned seeing it. Arthur too was watching the girl with a grimace, sympathy clear on his face. It became eerily quiet down the docks, the screams, and the crack of the fire dying down. Only an ugly splashing sound could still be heard. Vera looked down and noticed that Jon was finally stopping the beating. He moved away from the dead man and lied down. 

"Oh no," Arthur groaned, when they saw the dragon moving closer. 

It was clear that the creature was asking about something, because Jon waved his hand dismissively. At that, the beast took the body of the slavers’ leader between his giant teeth and bit him in half. He did so right over Jon and the dead man's remains splashed everywhere, mostly on their King. The boy yelped indignantly and jumped up quickly. 

"You asshole, you did that on purpose!" they heard and the dragon roared. 

Vera was certain the beast was laughing. Jon looked like a savage, covered in blood, and with pieces of guts over his clothes. She didn't even want to think how horribly he must smell. They had almost forgotten about the girl, but suddenly she started to scream with terror, crawling away from them. 

"Please, don't hand me over to this monster!" she was sobbing violently. 

Vera closed her eyes. She knew that Arthur was opening his mouth, probably to justify his king and she raised her hand.

"Don't you dare," she said simply. "Don't you fucking dare!" Vera knelt next to the girl. "Don't be scared, all is well," she tried to assure her, but the blonde turned into a fetal position and was almost howling in fear. _I thought you'd enjoy watching their end..._

The woman rolled her eyes in resignation and sighed, but as she looked down one last time, she froze, seeing the dragon nudging pieces of the slaver closer to Jon, in a clear gesture of offering. Arthur came closer to her and they both became transfixed on the scene taking place below. For a second, Vera could almost imagine Jon, taking a piece of human meat and biting into it, feasting alongside his dragon.   
Thankfully, he only stood up and wished Valasin 'a tasty dinner', walking away. She realized too late she had exhaled in relief. 

Arthur was forced to overpower the hysterical girl to transport her safely to the residence. Looking back, it wasn't very wise to allow her to watch the gruesome end of the slavers. 

Later, Vera found Jon in the bath, lying with his eyes closed. His clothes had to be burned and it was his second change of water. She felt so tired. She messed up and she had to make sure Jon will remain oblivious.   
She watched him quietly for a long moment before clearing her throat. 

"Show me," she said simply and he silently raised his hands without opening his eyes. She inspected his knuckles. "You are lucky nothing is broken. Couldn't you use a dagger or a sword?"

_Couldn't you just kill this asshole quickly? Not cause a nightmarish scene that will probably haunt that little girl for years?_

_But only because you chose to show her what was taking place at the shore, she reprimanded herself the next moment._

Jon acted like she hadn’t asked him a question. She sighed heavily and took hold of his cheeks. He finally opened his eyes and looked at her. 

"Go on," she urged, encouraging him to speak.

"How is the girl?" Jon chose to ask but Vera only shrugged noncommittally. _Why did he have to ask about her?_

"She is not hurt too badly," she said softly, deciding to omit the fact that right then, the girl was more terrified of Jon than her previous tormenters. 

"It sounds horrible, doesn't it? Not too badly…" he snorted shaking his head slowly. "Did you give her…?"

"Don't teach me to do my job," she gently reprimanded him. Jon looked somewhere sideways. "She will be fine in time, they all will be. But we cannot allow them to leave the Island," Vera reminded him.

"I know." 

They were quiet for a moment, Jon looking in the distance and Vera preparing the right ointment for the cuts and the bruising on his knuckles.   
"I think she is slightly older than Sansa. Her eyes are the same blue color, you know?" Vera only listened quietly. "If someone had hurt Sansa like that I would have killed him too... The same way."

"But all in all, I don't feel anything," he muttered eventually. "Well... it's a lie actually, I do feel something." He looked down bitting his lower lip. "I am satisfied it took place. I felt unstoppable with Valasin at my side... I... I might have lost myself a bit beating that man. It scares me..."

Vera didn't answer, only took hold of his hands and started to clean the wounds. 

"They were evil men," she said gently. "Your fury was justified."

"Of course. They were preying on my people, right? I am the King of Westeros and they dared to come over and break families, kidnap my men! Am I right?" he asked urgently. Vera could easily notice he was desperately trying to convince himself, not her. "To look at it mathematically…There were seventy potential slaves on their boat. How many cargoes do they ship every year? Five?"

"More I assume…"

"Let's say seven." 

_On, my sweet summer child, they probably ship hundreds._

"That’s four hundred and ninety women and children a year. Almost five thousand in ten years…"

"Jon," she said softly putting a hand on his arm. "I understand, you don't have to explain yourself to me. If there was no dragon, we would have ended them, either way. You just did the smart thing. You made sure that the dragon is sated, while bringing justice to the criminals. "

He sighed heavily and after a small hesitation, he lowered his head on the edge of the bath. She stroked his hair in comfort, knowing very well he was probably fighting down tears. 

"I am not evil, am I?" he asked in a voice that reminded her more of the boy she had first met, rather than the man he was becoming.

"You are not," she said with conviction. 

Of course, he wasn't, couldn't he see that? An evil man would have no need to torment himself like this after killing his enemies. 

_Shit, I have to make sure that girl won't stumble upon Jon anytime soon. He doesn't need to meet someone who’s terrified of him right now._

Jon moved his head away and looked at the foam filling the bath. He was quiet and avoided looking at her. Vera allowed him to retreat to his own place, somewhere inside his head. He was seeking shelter there more and more often lately. It was because it was getting harder and harder for him to separate his mind from the dragon's. Vera knew it, everyone knew it and only Jon was stubbornly denying the bond's existence. Even the fucking dragon had to know. 

"You are doing very well dealing with the beast," she said in the end and softly pushed Jon's back on the bath's wall and took a comb. "I will brush your hair. Don't protest, I know you like it!" she playfully patted his arm with a brush. 

She started to untangle his locks humming softly. He closed his eyes and smirked. 

"Yes," he admitted with a gentle chuckle. "This is our secret though... I don't want to be seen as a pampered lady." Vera almost kissed the tip of his head.

She had never been blessed with a child of her own, even though she tried, even though she had personally delivered hundreds and saved many women during childbirth. Sometimes she wondered if she would have managed to save Jon's mother if her ship had docked sooner on Dornish shore. 

"Or maybe it was always meant to be this way," she murmured under her breath.

"What?" Jon opened his eyes and looked at her.

She was furious knowing that her eyes were a bit watery.   
"I was saying that I am proud of how brave you are. I think you are no longer scared of him."

"Yes..." Jon dragged slowly. "We have come a long way from our first meeting to now." 

"You put it too lightly!" Vera huffed.

Jon closed his eyes again and exhaled loudly. 

"Maybe I should visit the girl? I have to apologize that I allowed this man to take her clothes off. She was so scared and…"

"No!" she said hurriedly. "She… is very fragile right now. Trust me, better to give her more time to adjust. I am telling you this as a woman and a healer."

Jon sighed heavily and started to lower himself into the water. 

"Jon! I've just brushed your hair!" Vera grumbled when he disappeared under the foam. She rolled her eyes at his childish antics. 

* * *

When later that day Vera read the letter from Byron, she was ready to cry from frustration. It was not a good time to deliver Jon such news. 

Fucking wolf, bloody idiot! She knew Jon must be informed and she was not looking forward to that. 

Arthur was watching her silently.

"What did Ned Stark do?" the knight asked harshly.

"It's not what he did…" Vera said slowly. "But what he didn't."

She handed him the letter. Arthur finished reading it and shook his head.

"Our King won't be pleased," he judged.

Somehow, Vera suspected that was a bit of an understatement. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think happened in Winterfell?
> 
> I thought it'd be more interesting to use another POV in this chapter.  
> Let me know what you think!


	9. Nothing Like Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon travels back home but at Winterfell nothing is as it used to be. Or maybe it is Jon who has changed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter so far... You will need around **40 minutes** to read it, so get yourself something to drink and enjoy the bumpy road!  
> Also, two main plotlines are separated with some *** symbol.
> 
> As always, big thanks to Onar27 for beta-reading! It is you who deserve the credit for a big part of this chapter ❤

Jon was half way through the letter and already he could feel his anger rising. Vera and Arthur watched him silently, already knowing the information the message conveyed. Even in his anger he could feel their apprehension towards him and the reaction he was going to have. He wondered vaguely what they expected him to do. Did they expect him to become so infuriated that he’d lose it again, as he did with the slaver?

“Promises, promises,” he murmured, finally putting the letter down and taking a calming breath. “Byron is sure that Lord Stark has not made any other moves?”

Vera took a deep breath. 

“He did send a raven south to Kings Landing, but there have been no actions in accordance to what you’ve agreed about Highgarden.”

“That’s because he’s made no moves to fulfill your agreement,” Arthur concluded. “It’s treason.” 

Jon kept himself from rolling his eyes, knowing the statement to be a bit too harsh. He knew, though, just how big of a grudge Arthur held against Ned Stark and he wasn’t surprised to hear cold malice in his Kingsguard’s tone. 

“What I don’t understand is why he would invite Rickard Karstark to Winterfell. How is that in any way helpful?” the young king asked, turning to the window and casting his gaze out at the sea and the cliffy, perilous shores of Hidden Island in contemplation, while his companions watched him silently. 

The plan the Islanders had concocted to get him on the throne had been pragmatic and while it involved risks, it mostly relied on cold hard logic. He had argued against it with fervor; at first. But as the weeks passed and he learnt more about governing and ruling and Vera’s lessons chipped away viciously at his emotional responses, more importantly as he came to realize exactly what was coming for all of them, from the Lands of Always Winter, he knew that he couldn’t follow emotion and familial affection and loyalty over logic. Over what would be detrimental in saving the North, really. They needed Highgarden. He needed them for when he staked his claim to the throne, but more importantly the North needed grain and support from the South, to have a chance to survive the winter ahead. He had no idea how to even describe what had happened the night he had woken up screaming, feeling like an ice spear had been lodged in his ribs for real. If anything it was a warning; a warning that had haunted him many nights afterwards. Winter was coming. 

Still, he had spent the nights he laid sleepless, worrying that Robb will grow to resent him. On one hand, he could tell that what Robb thought he had with Alys Karstark was no more than childlike infatuation and yet on the other… he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if his brother ended up in a marriage with some prissy southern lady, that understood nothing about the North. One Catelyn Stark was enough. It did help that Vera assured him that Margaery Tyrell was coveted as a great beauty, a girl that any man would beg to have at his side. 

In the end Jon had been convinced and so had put the plan into a letter and had sent it Ned Stark’s way. It came as a great relief, when Lord Stark had finally acquiesced in one of his letters and had promised his help. They had agreed, then, upon the arranged betrothals for his children, in order to secure alliances and he had accepted, even if he didn’t know that it wouldn’t just be the war for the throne that those alliances would help with. Jon had been so glad that his uncle, the man he had grown up admiring and thought to be his father, was willing to trust in him and even follow a plan that involved the North making actual decisive moves to secure him the throne. And then Lord Stark had apparently changed his mind. 

He had agreed and then didn’t follow that promise. The Warden of the North had been strong armed into agreeing on a betrothal between the Starks and the Baratheons, because there was really no way around it; that had been predicted and taken into account, while ironing out the details of the plan. Sansa was still a child and would be reaching her majority and leaving her home for a few more years yet. But the plan had been for Lord Stark to betrothed Robb to Margaery Tyrell and not Alys Karstark. It seemed, however, that his uncle had buckled under some perceived fear of insulting the Northern Lords and sacrificing Robb’s happiness. Jon knew that the Northern Lords never really saw the benefit in bridging the gap with the South, but they would just have to get over themselves. Besides Lord Stark had to know that Jon wouldn’t jeopardize Robb’s happiness, if it wasn’t absolutely necessary and he wasn’t assured that it really wasn’t actual love between him and Alys. He had to know that, didn’t he? 

Arthur was right, he did feel betrayed. 

“I believe I should visit my family,” Jon stated simply in the end, tearing his eyes away from the window and turning to face his companions once more. 

“If I may…” Vera started.

“No, Vera," he interrupted, shaking his head. “I know what you’re going to say. You will try and convince me not to leave the Island. But you can’t keep me here forever. It’s been a year and it’s about time to make a move!” Jon said as he massaged the nape of his neck thinking hard. “The fact is that Ned Stark had agreed with the plan. He wrote to me that he will follow it and then, started to avoid his responsibility. We need an alliance with Highgarden, the North needs an alliance with Highgarden, if everything is to go swiftly. Is the Tyrell’s rose such a horrible thing? Robb would be lucky to have her as his wife! We need to secure the Reach, so that the Tyrells would not enter an alliance with the Baratheons! ”

A wave of anger started to overwhelm him and Jon felt a small tingling under the skin covering his skull. Vera and Arthur jumped involuntarily when they heard the roar outside. Jon only sighed. 

“Jon, maybe you should…” Vera begun shakily. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he calmed them. “He’s just showing off. And my decision is final - we are going to Winterfell. I have to speak with Ned Stark and make sure he hasn’t changed his mind. If he is writing to me about one thing and then going on to do the other, who knows where his true allegiance lays. I must look him in the eyes and see it for myself.”

It seemed like all his relief about his uncle supporting him had been for naught. He should have known he’d be reluctant to go against his usurping, beloved friend. After all, he hadn’t chosen him in the past, had he? For all that he had protected Jon, Ned Stark had allowed Robert Baratheon to sit on his family’s throne; his friend who had laughed when the corpses of his true siblings and their mother had been presented to him. He wondered, as he often did ever since he had learned the truth, if all he ever was to Ned Stark had just been duty. Had the man he had called father until recently ever even cared about him? He certainly did not appear to trust him. 

“Does it even matter?” Vera asked. ”If I may, again…” she raised her eyebrows. “…I am sure that our loud friend” she pointed at the window indicating the dragon “can swing others to our side pretty quickly.”

“I am trying to save the North! I’m not gonna burn it down!” he exclaimed aghast that she would suggest such a thing. “I love them dearly, Vera. I love my family and I love Northern lands, I grew up there. I want them…” he hesitated “… to back me on their own accord, not because I will force them to.” 

Jon walked over to the window again and looked outside. The dragon flew closer, rolling his giant body in the air and roaring loudly. Jon noticed a gathering of people standing in front of the residence and he smiled seeing that they were clapping. With every passing day, they were growing more accustomed to the mighty creature, and Valasin, even though he denied it, was basking in their devotion. Since the day Jon explained to the dragon that the clapping sound meant awe and approval, the creature had been constantly working on air tricks, fishing for the compliments of the gathered crowd. Such a vain creature his dragon was. 

“Vera, write an official letter to Lord Stark. Tell him you want to start a trade deal, tell him that I convinced you; just figure out something.”

The woman grimaced. 

“Do I have to?”

Jon looked at her with raised eyebrows. 

“It is about time for the Islanders to start mingling with the people of Westeros. In a year or two, you will fight arm in arm alongside them in my name.”

Vera wasn’t pleased, it was clear. It seemed that just like Arthur, she too held on a bit of a grudge towards Lord Stark. Besides he knew, by now, that just like the North, the residents of Hidden Island did not like to socialize with people outside their own borders. Well, just like the Northerners, they would have to get over themselves. 

“We can gain the attention of the capital in the process. Being separated for so long and turning toward Westeros out of the blue…” she finally said reluctantly. 

“Yes, we can…” Jon nodded at her and then smiled broader when the dragon started flying straight at the window, changing his course at the last moment; Jon didn’t move but Vera screamed and hid under the desk. “But we will worry about it when the time comes. Sometimes, different paths lead us to the same castle.”

Jon turned from the window fighting down his laughter. Ser Arthur was not as successful, however and was laughing openly, while helping the woman to stand up. 

“If we will follow your plan to the letter, Vera, my conquest is going to be horribly boring.” 

“I see,” she fixed her dress a bit, glaring at Jon. “I can say you are growing more adventurous. Valasin’s influence, I assume?” she said narrowing her eyes at him, but eventually sighed. “At your command, I will prepare the letter. Would you like to read it beforehand?” she mocked. 

“I trust you completely,” he assured gently. 

The woman seemed to look pleased with the praise but still glared at him, her usual expression of cold indifference replaced with a stern one. 

“He is going to crash sooner or later. You have to tell him to stop maneuvering between buildings,” she warned, as she pointed to the window. 

“Don’t worry; he knows what he’s doing. And so do I,” Jon said softly walking closer to the woman and taking hold of her arms. “Don’t act like a mother hen,” he smiled pleasantly, though Vera only glared at him more. “A small trip will do us good,” Jon said lightheartedly. 

“I shall begin to prepare for our journey then,” Ser Arthur said as he stopped next to him with an unsure expression. “And…” the knight cleared his throat. “What about him?” 

Ser Arthur was pointing at the window, just as another loud roar made the glasses on the table shake. Jon rolled his eyes; Valasin was already getting bored again. 

“He is coming with us,” Jon decided. “I will convince him.”

Vera rolled her eyes playfully. 

“Yes, your charm is incomparable, as we all learnt.”

Jon snorted as he shook his head. By the Gods, she was right. He had mastered sweet-talking. 

“Vera…” he stopped the woman that was moving towards the exit. “I think I should bring something for my siblings, don’t you think? Some presents?” 

The woman smiled proudly and clapped her hands.

“You are finally learning some manners!” she praised gently. “But I understand the meaning behind your words.” 

She cocked her head watching him with a gaze clearly saying he’s been busted. Jon smiled at her, trying to look as charming as possible. 

“Fine,” she rolled her eyes. “I will prepare something for them. Nice dresses for your sisters, some kind of weapons for boys?”

Jon nodded absently but paused briefly. 

“Actually…send me a blacksmith. And only include one dress,” he decided smiling broadly, thinking about Arya’s face, when he would give her the gift. 

* * *

Persuading the dragon to fly somewhere outside the Island, while staying hidden on Westerosi land, was surprisingly easy. After his appetite had been sated by some slaver snack, as he called them, Valasin’s mood had improved, but he was already growing bored again. The beast was almost giddy hearing Jon’s request, saying it would be their ‘little adventure’. It made Jon smile broadly.

“Fly on me!” the dragon suggested unexpectedly. “It is going to be faster! We will get there within hours!”

“Would you take Arthur and Vera on your back, hmm?” Jon asked sitting next to the dragon, leaning over his leg and watching the sunset. “Because I need them with me.”

“Don’t you dare to suggest it!” Valasin hissed, turning away offended, as Jon snickered. 

“So I thought. Then I will have to take a boat and then a horse.”

The boy grimaced looking at his bruised knuckles. They still hurt and he was in no hurry to spend days holding the reins. The beast grumbled quietly.

“Would I be able to burn something there?” the dragon inquired in a hopeful tone. 

“I hope you won’t have to …” Jon murmured.

“Oh, I hope I will! Maybe a castle? I have never burned down a real castle, but I am sure my flames would easily melt the stone…”

Jon just rolled his eyes, as the dragon went on to praise himself for the millionth time. 

* * *

A day before their departure Arthur asked if his King could spare him some time. Jon, who had believed them to be passed the need for formalities, simply invited him to his solar. He frowned seeing servants carrying a chest and putting it on the table. His knight dismissed them and beckoned Jon closer. 

“I have been working on this for some time…” Arthur said opening the chest and Jon froze looking inside. “You are growing at a fast rate, Your Grace, so I assume it will still need some adjustments going forward.” 

Jon leaned closer to the chest looking down at the armor inside. It was created from a dark steal that appeared almost black. 

“Your sixteenth nameday is nearing. I thought you should have proper armor. Needless to say, I am sure Rhaegar would have prepared something.” Arthur hesitated for a moment. “I have tried to recreate his armor as good as possible, but the detail has gotten blurry in my mind. It is close enough, though frustratingly the Islanders did not have the materials to paint it red, as your father’s had been.”

Jon was still left speechless and just silently reached for the helmed, taking it out and inspecting it carefully. It was going to cover his face almost completely, dragon wings decorating the sides, all sharp edges, looking menacing and angry. The details were amazing, he thought touching the scale-like grooves. 

“I have never been put into full armor,” Jon said weakly. 

“I assume you didn’t,” Arthur smirked. 

“Could you?” the boy asked quietly. 

It turned out that the breastplate needed some adjustments, just like Arthur had suspected. The pauldrons and plackart were good though and Jon decided to take them with as paired with thick leather would do well for now. 

“Thank you, Arthur. I am taking the upper half with me,” Jon decided. “It is not going to take much space.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. 

“Are you sure, Your Grace? If someone is to find it among your things…”

“Yes,” Jon said with conviction. 

He looked at his reflection and put the helmet on. He had to admit he looked somewhat terrifying. All in black, just like his dragon. With this armor on, he and Valasin would blend in perfectly. 

“The Black Dragon,” Arthur murmured under his breath. 

“What?” Jon asked turning to him sharply. 

The knight’s face froze in an almost comical mask of dread. 

“Forgive me, your Grace… I….” Arthur stuttered. 

Jon chuckled once again analyzing his reflection. Yes, with his Northern features and the black beast he will fly on...

“It fits, don’t you think?” He turned his head a bit looking at his dragon-like profile. 

It was the first thing he possessed that was truly Targaryen. Even his dragon was more a Northerner than a Valyrian.

“I meant your coloring! No one will call you that!” the knight said with assurance, no doubt trying to hide a blunder. 

“Except you?” Jon mocked goodheartedly and poor Arthur literally turned red. “Don’t be bothered by that…” the boy sighed heavily. “For many I will be just that… The Black Dragon reborn; an usurper and a disgrace.”

The knight started to argue, but Jon patted his arm to calm him down. 

“It will not matter in the end. Let them call me a Blackfyre all they want. They will still bend their knees, lest they end up broken,” he informed with a slight malice. “I also know that Rhaegar had been called the Last Dragon, but he wasn’t the last one,” Jon finally murmured. “We have to start anew but this is only the beginning.” 

Arthur didn’t answer, but jumped instead and cursed when suddenly a dark shape covered the light outside the window, and a loud roar followed. Almost like a dragon would like to show his approval. 

* * *

The journey back to Winterfell seemed to be going faster, than the one that took him from it, even though their party was far bigger this time. Except for Vera and Arthur, Jon was accompanied by two dozens of guards and a few trusted servants. Vera had strongly suggested that he should be flanked by his most trusted people at all times. Just in case… 

Officially, it was Vera who was visiting the North to discuss a trade deal. It was important to ride with an entourage. It had proven to be difficult to dissuade the guards and servants from bowing to him, though. Vera had gone on to give a speech about keeping up appearances and how important it was to hide Jon’s title from outsiders, but still every time they were calling him with his name, omitting his title, the poor people were grimacing, like they thought the dragon would fly over their heads and burn them for their insolence. Jon found it amusing but he hoped they wouldn’t slip; Gods only knew how Lady Stark would react if she heard him being referred to as ‘Your Grace’, though admittedly it was entertaining to picture it. 

They would be arriving in Winterfell within the next two days and Jon was currently pacing restlessly around their camp, a strange need growing inside him. He missed Valasin, he decided. He missed flying. 

Neither he nor the dragon wanted to admit it at loud, but Vera had been right. There was a bond growing between them, stronger with every passing day. Like right now, when he experienced a bit of annoyance and hunger. It was not only his…

“I have to go and check on him,” Jon announced finally, walking up to Ser Arthur and he and a few guards immediately went to stand. “Please stay, I will go on my own. He will land not far from here.”

Vera threw him an unimpressed glance and shrugged. 

“I am pretty sure he is fine…”

“I’ll be right back,” Jon retorted and didn’t wait for another response, before turning around to walk into the trees. 

He found his dragon a few minutes from their camp, lying among destroyed bushes and even a few unearthed trees. It also appeared like he had scorched the earth he was lying on, to make a better nesting place for himself and it reminded Jon of the hounds in the kennels and how they’d turn in circles and dig at the ground to make it acceptable for them. He was also certain that Valasin would tear him apart if he ever compared him to a dog out loud. Jon wondered fleetingly what unwitting people would make of the wrecked and burned site, if they stumbled upon it. 

“You can see nothing under those bloody trees,” the beast complained. “It’s hard to hunt. “

“Are you hungry?”

“Are you offering a limb?”

Jon rolled his eyes. 

“You can fly and look for some flock. Just…”

“Don’t burn them all, yes. Stay hidden, above the clouds or deep inside the woods, I remember your stupid rules. I expected this trip to be far more exciting.”

“During our last journey, we were attacked by bandits on this very road.”

“Ah. So if they attack you I can eat them?” Valasin asked, with excitement. 

“Sure. I won’t stop you.”

“Oh my…” the dragon murmured almost dreamily. “I hope you will be attacked soon.”

“Thanks,” Jon snorted softly. “Do you mind… if we fly together for a bit?” he asked hesitantly as he expected some bickering but the dragon simply nodded.

“I have sensed something actually,” Valasin informed him. “I don’t know what it is but… I feel it’s something important.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. My magical powers are telling me that,” the creature chuckled. 

Jon climbed on him with ease and sat between the biggest spikes. 

“You don’t have to cover me up; I want to look down a bit.”

The dragon only hissed his agreement and took off. They flew for a few minutes, until the dragon left the clouds and flew lower. Jon was about to remind him about staying hidden, but the beast had started circling one particular spot. 

“I can feel it from here.”

“Do you have any inclination what’s down there?” Jon asked since all he could see was a thick carpet of trees. 

“It is for you to find out,” the dragon simply stated and then regained altitude again.

The next morning Jon woke up everyone a bit earlier and ordered them to move north from their camp, towards the site the dragon had pointed out. He was sure they were going to stray a bit, but Valasin had seemed pretty assured that there was something there for him to find and Jon was determined to see what. Almost an hour later, they finally stumbled upon something.

“There!” Arthur exclaimed and pointed somewhere on the right. 

Jon dismounted his horse and walked over with his knight and a few guards. A great stag lied dead, his belly ripped open and his antlers broken.

“Well, I would say it could be taken as an omen,” Vera whispered looking at the corpse. “Is this it?”

“No, it’s too close to our camp,” Jon judged. 

So they started searching again and half an hour later, they came up to another dead animal, which was as big as their horses. A direwolf. 

“Shit,” Vera muttered. “I hope there’s no more of them around…” 

Jon ignored her upon hearing a soft whining and he almost ran toward the dead creature. Her side was pierced by an antler and yet she had managed to make it all this way here. The reason became apparent as he got closer. The puppies were crawling around and still tried to feed on the milk of their dead mother. 

“There are five of them,” Arthur kneeled next to the corpse and the gathered pups. “They will do well as a nice gift for the Stark children, don’t you think Your Grace? Your Grace?” Arthur repeated, when Jon didn’t answer.

But Jon had barely heard him. He had his eyes fixed on the small white bundle, laying a few paces from the dead animal and other puppies. A white direwolf puppy was watching Jon with ruby-like eyes and the boy felt almost hypnotized by those strange orbs. 

_The runt of the littler, the outsider_ , he thought. _Just like me._

“Oh please, don’t.” Vera rolled her eyes. “If you want one for yourself, get the biggest one. The runt will die soon.”

It was like lighting ran through his body. He turned to Vera and glared her down with a furious stare. 

“I think not,” he spat walking over to the white puppy and taking him into his arms. “This one belongs to me,” he said with force, being completely assured of his statement. 

The animal was watching Jon silently like it could somehow understand him. He had to thank Valasin later for pointing this spot to him. It felt like he had found a missing part of his soul. 

*******************************

Ned had to admit that he was nervous. It had been almost a year since Jon had learned the truth and decided to leave Winterfell and the North. The frustratingly short letters he had been receiving were always straight to the point and always delivered by someone from Wintertown, while the ravens that Lord Stark and his children had received, were usually full of unimportant words, descriptions of Hidden Island and friends that Jon had made there. The official version of events claimed that Jon, during one of his trips, was able to help the Lady of Hidden Island. He has been working for her since and now, they were making their way to the North to discuss the terms of a trade deal. Ned knew he would be forced to spend some time with Lady Vera and needless to say, he was not looking forward to that. 

Lord Stark looked down at Sansa and smiled anxiously at her expression. Since the last moon, when Ned had received the letter from the capital, his oldest daughter had her head in the clouds. It had always been guaranteed, that Robert would gladly agree to the union of their houses. Like it once was meant to be… 

It was hard for him, harder than he had expected it to be, when he read Jon’s request. He could appreciate the cunningness of such a plan, but trading his children to build up a power base, putting up a mummery… Robb wasn’t yet aware of his betrothal plans. Ned decided to wait as long as possible, worried that House Karstark would take great offense. He and Rickard had once upon a time discussed the chance of joining their houses. He already knew that the Northern lords were going to be mad that the heir of Winterfell was going to mingle with Southerners; they barely accepted Catelyn and her beliefs. Perhaps during his stay here, Jon would see that they had to drop this plan. They didn’t need the South, he tried to convince himself. 

But the latest letter from Hidden Island had gotten Ned worried. Part of Ned’s mind was sure that Jon was already aware of his stalling, even though he had initially agreed. And from what he could tell from the later, his nephew was not happy with that. 

Shortly after he read the letter he had written one of his own, addressing it to Jon Arryn. He informed them that he was considering starting trading with Hidden Island. He simply had no other choice but to officially inform the Hand of the King of his plans. He also sent a few letters to Northern lords, inviting them to Winterfell to meet their potential trading partner. He had to do that; surely such action would not cause any problems? 

And so he stood in the yard, with his whole family, trying his best to ignore Catelyn as she seethed next to him. She had pointed out that such a greeting was too much for some unknown foreign woman that Jon was bringing with him. He almost had to drag her here. He had simply explained that it was the first official visit of a noble from Hidden Island, an event that would surely make their House’s name ring around the whole of the Seven Kingdoms for months or even years to come. 

Still, when Ned saw the party of around forty riders that approached, he thought that it was going to be hard to pass it like that. Even from a distance, someone observant could easily notice who among the newcomers was the most important. Jon rode at the front, proud and upright on his black horse, clad in clothes that were truly worthy a king. Despite the similarity it shared with what the rest of his party was wearing, there was something more in his black leathers and furs. While the others’ garments were loose, his were perfectly tailored and elaborately finished, with silver buttons and pins. Even his horse was somehow more distinguished, completely black and with a coat so shiny that almost seemed unnatural. They were all clad in nothing, but black but Ned tensed a bit noticing red scarfs around the guards’ necks. It was a discreet declaration but a declaration no less. Black and red, colors of their king’s true House. They held no banners with them, aside from black shields with a red outline of a mountain painted on it. Jon wore a strange aura of respect around himself and nothing in the world could hide the fact that the riders surrounding him were falling one step behind, almost submissively. 

Ned tensed even more when he recognized the two people riding next to Jon. He couldn’t believe that Arthur Dayne was brave enough to just ride through the Winterfell gates in the open, but here he was doing exactly that. Although, just like last time, Lord Stark had to admit that the man was unrecognizable with his rugged looks. Thankfully, there were very few in the North that had met the Sword of the Morning personally. Lady Vera rode on Jon’s other side, looking every bit as intimidating and unimpressed as she did the first time Ned had met her. 

Upon seeing the riders, Arya took a step forward, but Catelyn gripped the back of her cloak and yanked her back. 

“Don’t you dare!” the mother softly scolded her daughter and the girl pouted openly. 

Jon dismounted his horse and walked over to Lady Vera, offering her his hand and helping her down. Arthur Dayne disappeared somewhere behind them, blending with the group of guards. 

“Lord Stark,” Jon greeted as he came over and bowed respectfully; still, Ned thought they weren’t really working all that hard to sell the story they had come up with, since Jon approached him and greeted him before the supposed noble Lady of Hidden Island. 

“Son,” he smiled pretending that he couldn’t see the sneer on Cat’s face. “Welcome home.”

Jon only smiled and nodded, causing Ned to weaver a bit. He had expected a far warmer welcome. 

“Allow me to introduce Lady Vera, the Head of Council in Hidden Island,” the boy finally said, remembering decorum no doubt, as he introduced his companion. 

The tiny woman took a step forward outstretching her hand with a dazzling smile. There was no hint of her broken nose and she wore rich furs and enough jewelry to shame even the Queen. She clearly aimed to present herself as nobility. And to underline the legendary wealth of her Island, no doubt. 

“Lord Stark, it is an honor to meet you. If you are a man half as fine as Jon claims, I chose wisely my future friend,” she smiled a bit too brightly and Ned returned it with difficulty and reached to kiss the back of her hand. 

“Yes,” Ned cleared his throat. “We are honored that you decided to visit us, my Lady. It is so rare to host someone from your island.”

“Perhaps, that will change soon,” she replied, but despite her charming smile, Vera’s eyes were as cold as the wind that was flapping their furs. 

“Allow me to introduce my family,” Ned said and pointed at his left and noticed that Vera’s smile had fallen completely off her face. “My wife, Catelyn.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Vera,” Cat smiled politely but her expression faltered when the foreigner didn’t answer, merely nodded and moved her gaze on another member of his family.

While Vera ignored her altogether, Jon surprisingly took a step forward and gave his wife a polite bow, following protocol and not kissing her hand, as an apparent bastard, and even awarding his wife with a bright smile. 

“I am glad to be back, Lady Stark,” Jon said as he smiled down at her.

Catelyn’s face was growing progressively red and Ned was certain that it would end up matching her hair. He suppressed a groan, as his wife flared her nostrils and only gave Jon a nod, which only made him smile at her again. 

“I am sure my stay will be a delight for all of us,” Jon added and from such close a distance, it was clear that his eyes shone with mischief. 

“This…” Ned said a bit too loudly to interrupt the upcoming catastrophe “is Robb, my oldest and heir.” 

Lady Vera moved to his son and slowly looked him up and down. Even Ned, a man grown and experienced, almost blushed seeing her gaze. Poor Robb became as red as his hair. 

“Greetings, Heir of Winterfell,” she smiled and Jon moved after her and strongly embraced his brother. 

Lord Stark’s heart grew bigger seeing this scene.

“What is that?” Robb pointed at some dark hair covering Jon’s jaw.

“Something you are not going to see on yourself anytime soon.” 

Robb laughed warmly. Before Ned was able to introduce Sansa, Arya finally was able to launch forward and threw herself into Jon’s arms. 

“Arya!” Catelyn exclaimed but the girl ignored her completely, hanging from Jon’s neck. 

“I missed you, little sister. I have brought something for you,” Jon whispered, embracing his favorite sibling strongly. 

“You are enough!” the girl murmured back and Ned was almost sure, she was sobbing gently. “I am so happy you are back!”

Lady Vera had paused in front of Sansa, ignoring his redhead daughter, as she gazed upon the scene with a warm smile, perhaps the first true one. 

“So this is the wild she-wolf, you have been talking about?” she asked Jon and leaned over Arya. “Come closer, child.”

Arya hesitantly left Jon’s embrace and looked at Lady Vera, her face daring. 

“My Lady,” the girl mumbled looking over at the newcomer, as she made a poor attempt to curtsey.

“My, my, Jon was right, you are an amazing girl,” the woman stated admiringly and Arya glanced at Jon and back at the Lady. 

“Thank you, my Lady.”

“Vera,” Jon gestured for the woman to move forward and she rolled her eyes turning back to Sansa. 

The older girl’s curtsey was immaculate. But Ned knew that his daughters valued very different things in life and as much time Sansa spent perfecting her manners, Arya spent running around and causing trouble; there was a reason after all that she was nicknamed ‘Underfoot’. 

“Well, you look like your mother,” was all that Vera murmured dismissively and moved down the line, greeting Bran and Rickon.

Jon looked apologetic at his second sister and though he didn’t move to embrace her, as he had done to both Robb and Arya, he kissed the back of her hand.

“Forgive Lady Vera. She forgot to praise your beauty,” he smiled warmly at Sansa, but the girl only glanced sideways, at Catelyn no doubt, and gently shrugged. 

“You must be tired,” Ned patted Jon’s back and nodded politely to Vera. “Many lords are here and more will come to Winterfell within the next few weeks to meet you, my Lady.”

“Before we go and drown in ale and good food, I would like to gift something to your children. A token, hoping that our nations will soon become friends.”

A nice gesture or something more? He remembered how wild and vicious could this woman be. What did she bring? He glanced at Jon, who gently nodded his head, silently assuring him that there was nothing to worry about. 

“On the way here we came across a dead direwolf. She left a litter behind. I believe the Gods decided to bless our upcoming partnership,” she went on to say, making Ned raise his eyebrows in disbelief; there hadn’t been direwolves south of the Wall for hundreds of years. 

Jon moved to one of the horses, which had a cloaked cage of some sort on its back and reached for something inside. Ned felt his mouth hanging open when the boy presented them with the puppies. Arya and Bran squealed happily and no power could stop them then, even Catelyn’s angry yells when they raced to Jon. Ned looked at Sansa and Robb, who were watching him with big eyes, barely containing their excitement as well. Small Rickon was trying to wiggle from his nurse’s grip.

“Fine,” Ned sighed resigned. “Go and see them.”

Sansa forgot about her ladylike ways and Robb about his status as the heir and they ran to Jon excited. 

“One for each of your children…” Vera added watching them gushing over the puppies. 

“And… Jon?” he asked with a slight challenge.

“There is one for him as well,” she confirmed and Lord Stark somehow felt better hearing this, reading into her statement probably more than he should have. “But his is different; white with ruby-like eyes, silent like a ghost. He is never going to be a true member of their pack.”

“Ned, we cannot…” Catelyn started but he glared at her, angry more with Lady Vera’s words than the puppies’ presence. 

“The direwolf is the symbol of my House. The Gods clearly wanted my children to have them,” he told his wife, as his eyes focused on Vera once more, daring her. “This is going to be their home, always.” 

The woman slightly smirked.

“Till they decide to run into the wilderness. Let’s hope their instincts will be tamed…wild creatures can become vicious if not treated right.” 

“If you don’t mind, Lord Stark…” Jon interrupted as he walked over, a white puppy now trekking behind him and completely oblivious to the cryptic conversation between Ned and Vera. “Could you escort Lady Vera to the Great Hall? I would like to pay my respects to the dead first.” 

Ned only smiled tensely and Vera instantly hooked her arm in his elbow.

“Don’t worry about us, Jon,” the foreigner smirked at Ned, gently patting his chest. “I am sure that a man as fine as Lord Stark knows how to take care of a lonely lady.” 

Ned didn’t dare to look at his wife and just led them to the main hall. He felt a headache growing already. 

* * *

“Did they notice you sneaking away?” Jon smiled softly and turned around to Arya. 

The girl marched closer and embraced him around his middle. 

“No, no one paid me any mind. Why are you standing in front of Aunt Lyanna’s statue?” Arya questioned, while Jon reached for her head and ruffled her hair not looking down. “And why are you crying?”

“I was simply thinking about how horribly unjust our world is, little sister. But I don’t intend to sadden you with my gloomy thoughts. Come, I am hungry, it’s been a long journey.”

Arya reached for his hand and gripped it tightly walking with him from the crypts, as their two direwolves puppies trailed close behind, playfully snapping at each other from time to time. Arya had claimed one of the female puppies as her own and had gone on to name her ‘Nymeria’, after the princess of the Rhoynar, much to the chagrin of Lady Stark. He liked the name his little sister had come up with, but he had opted for something that suited his own pup’s silent nature and unsettling appearance; he had name him Ghost. 

“You are staying, right? I mean, forever?”

Jon smiled again. 

“I will stay for a few weeks. Then, sadly, I must move forward,” he replied honestly and she bit hard on her lower, trembling lip. “Don’t be sad, I will visit again soon and…” he hesitated. “Maybe not long from now, you would be able to come and live with me permanently.”

“On Hidden Island?” Arya’s eyes grew big. “Is it true that they have golden streets and that warlocks and sorceresses live there? Septa Mordane claims they are said to sacrifice children to their strange Gods.”

Jon barely contained a laugh.

“They follow the same Gods as us, but I suppose they would appear strange to your Septa”, he laughed. “I didn’t mean Hidden Island. I may have a very nice place of my own soon,” he mused contemplatively. “And I haven’t met any sorcerers nor seen any golden streets there. They do have a lot of silver though.” 

He pointed at his buttons. Arya looked closer at his clothes. 

“You look nice…” Arya stated. “Like a pampered lady,” she laughed and squealed when Jon took hold of her and raised her in his arms.

“Take it back or face consequences!” he threatened starting to tickle her sides. 

Arya laughed happily sneaking away from his hold. 

They continued speaking lightly, walking together towards the main keep. At the entrance, Ser Arthur discretely left them making Arya narrow her eyes. 

“He has been waiting for you at the entrance to the crypts too,” she whispered, glancing at the bearded man. 

“That’s okay. He is a guard assigned to me.”

“You have your own guard?” she whispered excitedly. 

They sneaked swiftly inside the hall and Jon was about to move to the side table, where he had always been seated before he saw that there was a place for him, at the high table, between Lady Vera and Robb. The woman was right then beckoning him closer, pointing at the seat. _Fuck you, Vera, we were not to bring any attention to me._

He was surprised when on his way there a few lords stopped and greeted him, telling him that it was good he was home. He smiled politely and nodded at them, thinking that somehow, along the way, Winterfell stopped feeling like the only home to him. 

He was glad to see Arya and Robb, little Bran and Rickon. Sansa would have been completely indifferent to him if there hadn’t been for the slave girl that resembled her. Now it was hard to look at her without thinking about it, so he avoided doing so. Sadly, he had a similar reaction to Lord Stark as well. He expected to be far happier seeing him. He almost envisioned them embracing but somehow couldn’t bring himself to even give him a simple hug.

He decided to dwell on his feelings later; he was far too tired for that. He sat heavily next to Robb. 

“You are all in black. I would have thought you have joined the Watch somewhere on the way,” Robb joked pouring him a cup of ale. 

“It has always been my color,” Jon answered shrugging but glanced at Ned Stark, who quickly averted his gaze. 

Next to him, Vera was describing her plans for buying wood to expanse their fleet and widen their trade trails. It was all bullshit, maybe expect the fleet part. There were really not many trees on Hidden Island, most of the fertile land was used to build greenhouses and fields of tubers. What they had in abundance was silver though; especially now, when they finally had the chance to search the caves that had been Valasin’s lair and had stumbled on a mountain of it. 

“How was it? Did you have any adventures?” Robb asked offering Jon a plate of meat pie, which his brother accepted eagerly. 

Jon could feel himself almost drool at the sight of Gage’s meat pie and put a giant portion on his plate, making Robb raise his eyebrows.

“What? I am hungry,” Jon only grumbled. 

“My, my….” Vera turned to him. “Are you going to eat it all by yourself?”

“I missed it, it’s my favorite dish,” Jon answered with a shrug, stuffing his mouth with a bite of the delicious pie. 

He didn’t move away, when Vera brushed a lock from his forehead, treating her strange gestures of affection like a normal activity. By the Gods, the woman had been sitting with him during his baths regularly. 

“We must learn to make it for you then,” she simply stated turning back to her food. 

Only when he heard a snicker from Robb and noticed his brother fighting down a laugh, he realized, that Vera’s affectionate actions could come across as…too intimate. 

“Don’t go there…” Jon warned quietly. 

Robb raised his eyebrows still fighting the laughter.

“You have a good deal going there yourself, eh?” he mocked. 

Jon decided it would be wise to just change the topic.

“Tell me what happened here during this last year.”

Robb thankfully complied and allowed him to stir the conversation elsewhere. The first thing he told him about was the upcoming betrothal between Sansa and Prince Joffrey. Apparently Sansa had told everyone that she was going to be a Queen, which of course had prompted Arya to start following her around calling her ‘Your Grace’, mockingly. 

He also mentioned the rising frequency of Wilding attacks around the Last Hearth, which both concerned and terrified Jon. Had the Others already begun attacking them? Were they running for their lives? Perhaps leaving those people beyond the Wall was an act of stupidity. If the Great Other could truly raise people from the dead and turn them into slaves, how many wildlings had already strengthened his army? It was an important matter, one that they should focus on as quickly as possible. 

“And Theon is going to lose his cock,” Robb informed him finally, bringing his attention back to him and causing him to snicker. 

“What did that moron do?”

“He is trying too hard to seduce Jeyne Poole. I am telling you, Vayon is going to kill him.” 

Jon furrowed his eyebrows. Jeyne? He remembered the quiet girl following Sansa like a shadow. Jeyne? 

“I can see your confusion,” Robb rolled his eyes and discretely pointed at the fourth table on the right. 

Jon glanced there and needed a few moments to realize that Jeyne was indeed seated there.

“You’re kidding,” he murmured. “She is completely different!”

“It’s been almost a year, you have changed as well. I am starting to look like a kid next to you…” 

The girl clearly felt, she was being watched and she looked their way, making the boys quickly avert their gazes. Jon shook his head sipping on his ale. Jeyne sure had grown up nicely. She was almost as pretty as Eilin. She was roughly the same age as Sansa - he glanced at his sister - and she was turning into a woman as well. Oh, Gods…in a few years, they would have to look for a match for Arya! And if boys had already started lusting after Jeyne, how many of them shared similar feelings towards Sansa? With the corner of his eye, he noticed Vera looking at him and he turned to the woman.

“You paled a bit,” she said with raised eyebrows. 

He didn’t answer, only moved his gaze toward Jeyne again. His sisters would mature soon as well, just like Jeyne. It was handy that he had a dragon eager to tear limbs at his disposal. 

He was so lost in his thoughts that when this time the girl caught his gaze, he didn’t avoid her eyes but instead smiled at her absently. Jeyne’s blush was visible even from the other side of the hall. Vera’s gaze turned into a glare.

“Don’t even think about it,” she muttered in warning.

“I wasn’t planning on it!” Jon assured her with a chuckle. 

Although it was almost tempting to achieve something that Greyjoy couldn’t… because he could have done that, with ease. It wouldn’t be even a challenge… 

Stop it Jon, you sound like Valasin bragging about melting stones and snapping mammoths in half. 

“Remember, we are back in Westeros…”

“And they follow a different set of rules, I remember. I have been drilled with their rules,” he responded, trying to suppress a wave of anger, though he couldn’t be certain if he was angry at Vera for thinking so little of him or at Valasin for infesting his thoughts with his weird bragging habits and impulses. “I was thinking about Sansa.”

“What?” Vera looked so shocked it was almost hilarious.

He only rolled his eyes not wanting to waste a time explaining to her his trail of thoughts and his fear of giving up his little sisters. 

“… faith?” 

He realized that Lady Stark was asking about something. 

“The Old Gods, for the most part,” Vera answered coldly. “But we follow more of a moral code than any rules created by Gods or some bigots.”

“How do you inflict punishments then? What do you consider right and wrong?” Lady Stark questioned with curiosity and Vera sat more comfortably. 

This time it was Jon’s turn to glare at the woman. As expected, she ignored him.

“Maybe I should give you an example.” Vera smiled as she sipped some wine. “We deem all people equal, no matter their birthright. Everyone can prove themselves. Children, for example, we see as a gift, no matter where they came from. Jon was kind enough to describe to me how the Faith of the Seven is in this regard. Bastards are…what was it?” she turned to Jon and he wanted to strangle her then and there.

“Creations of lust and greed,” he hissed, giving Vera a hard stare.

“Yes!” the woman touched her forehead. “It’s so absurd that it has escaped me. We don’t wed on our Island, so you understand that concept is ridiculous by default.” 

Catelyn opened her mouth but Vera would have none of it. 

“So we find the fact that the child is treated badly, just because his father decided to be unfaithful to be devoid of any logic. We don’t accept unnecessary cruelty in any shape. And we all know…directing your anger on the innocent instead on the one truly guilty…” Vera’s gaze stopped briefly at Ned. “…is an act of cowardice and cruelty. I despise people like that. Perhaps, if they had lived on my Island I would have had them punished.” 

Lady Stark’s face was beat red by then. Jon was aware that almost everyone at the high table had now turned their attention at the conversation taking place and was watching with either fascination or confusion. He took a big gulp of his ale. Ned Stark was looking left and right, on Vera and Catelyn, both women leaning closer to the lord, not noticing him though and glaring at each other. Robb at his side had his brows furrowed; his other siblings were thankfully pretty much clueless. 

“If said child would dare…” Catelyn started.

“Dare?!” 

Vera was so furious that Jon was sure that she was going to launch at the Lady of Winterfell, causing a scene. 

“Vera!” 

Jon’s hiss was so chilling that the foreign woman tensed visibly. She turned to him with her jaw clenched and Jon nailed her down with a cold stare. 

“That’s enough.”

“I…” she started to argue.

“I am asking nicely.”

His words were soft but held so much authority that people looked at him with shock. Vera tightened her lips in a thin line and turned to her plate, silently continuing her meal. The remaining of the feast went off in silence around the high table, everyone, except Ned, wondering how the bastard boy had managed to silence his supposed superior. 

Jon rubbed his forehead feeling a headache coming. 

* * *

“We barely talked,” Jon said, approaching him in the Godswood, causing Ned to tense a bit and to put down the whetstone. 

He turned to his son and his face fell at seeing Arthur Dayne dutifully standing close by. He didn’t want that man in the place of his Gods. 

“Yesterday was a blur of activities,” Ned replied and pointed at the spot next to him and Jon sat down, before looking at the Kingsguard and nodding shortly, at which Dayne took a few steps away. “Are you happy to be home?” 

Jon smiled softly not answering, rather rearranging his gloves. 

“It’s so peaceful here, in the Godswood. I have always liked this place. The one on Hidden Island lacks something,” the boy said as he clasped his hands together and put them on his knees turning to Ned. “Tell me about the steps you’ve taken on what we agree on, Lord Stark. I am curious as to how the plan for securing allies is turning out.” 

Ned gritted his teeth. 

“I believe you know, don’t you?”

“Of course, I know you are stalling,” Jon smiled softly. “I just want to hear your explanation.” 

Lord Stark wasn’t pleased by this unnecessary power play but he sighed and started explaining his reasoning. Jon’s face remained completely cold and emotionless the whole time. 

“You see?” Ned finished. “Offending the Karstarks is too much of a risk right now. We need all of the North united! I need them to put their trust in me…especially if you want me to persuade them to rebel against Robert! We don’t need Highgarden. Maybe…” Ned cleared his throat. “She would be more suitable for you, when you win the throne. I hope you agree.” 

“No.”

Ned blinked hearing such a simple statement.

“Excuse me?” Lord Stark sat a bit straighter, surprised by the rude answer. 

“I suggest you write the letter right away, Lord Stark. If you struggle to find the right words, Vera can guide you,” the boy said with authority as he stood up; Arthur Dayne, immediately coming closer. “I need Highgarden, you and your people need it as well. Winter is coming for all of us. We need the Tyrells’ grain, their gold, and their army,” he sighed, before shaking his head. “Sadly, I have to be open for the taking for now… if the need arises to secure another alliance.”

Ned opened his mouth to question him, but suddenly he didn’t have to; he understood. 

“Martells, I assume?” Lord Stark grimaced. 

Jon only shrugged absently. 

“I am planning to offer them a gift to appease them but I have to be ready to offer more. That’s all. Maybe Doran Martell will risk giving up another Dornish princess to a Targaryen again,” the boy explained, his face grave, until he suddenly chuckled. “I would have to swear to them not to get myself a second wife and vow that Princess Arianne will not end up cut in half by some brute…” 

Ned had to keep himself for reprimanding the boy for his twisted attempt of humor. 

“I need Robb’s help with that. I am sorry but there is no other way. If the Northern lords start to cause problems, leave them to me to deal with. I know I ask a lot of you, but I would appreciate it if you showed your famed bravery and take that risk. Trust me, if any problems arise, I will keep you and our home safe.”

Ned couldn’t stop himself, he snorted at Jon’s bold statement. What had happened along the way? The boy had spent some time away from his home, surrounded by a few kneeling people and suddenly he grew assured beyond reason, entitled even. Ned knew it wasn’t really his son’s fault, though, but Dayne’s and that accursed woman’s, who were who were probably feeding the boy on nice lies and illusions all the time. He shouldn’t have allowed them to take Jon, he should have fought harder to keep him from their influence. Especially Dayne’s. 

“Son, right now you have no power,” he tried to explain softly. “Aside from a group of strange foreigners that follow you… without any logical reason really. And you will not swing the Northern lords into accepting Robb’s betrothal, just by demanding it. It needs to be a slow process, it…”

“Only if you overcomplicate it, Lord Stark. They respect you, they are listening to your orders. Just say the words,” Jon interrupted coldly. 

“I don’t know what nonsense they are feeding you…” Ned hissed, pausing to glare at the knight “…but ruling works a bit differently. It is more than barking orders.” 

“I am neither naïve nor stupid, Lord Stark. I know that a crown can weight a lot,” Jon huffed as he cracked his knuckles and Ned grimaced seeing that they were horribly bruised. 

“What happened to your hands?” Ned asked with worry, but Jon waved it off. 

“I killed a slaver,” he shrugged, making Ned frown. “It’s not important. You can give the lords a lot of explanations as to why you decided to enter a marriage alliance with Highgarden. As I said: grain, gold, support through the Winter. The Northerners are stubborn but not completely dense, they will see reason.”

“Robb…” Ned started.

“Wants to marry Alys, I know,” Jon finished for him and balled his fists, staring Ned. “But sometimes we have to sacrifice what we want for the greater good. Duty comes before love.”

“If your parents had understood that, the world would have looked much different.” 

The second Ned said those words out loud, he regretted them, knowing that he had hurt his son needlessly. Arthur Dayne tensed visibly, his hand on his sword, but Jon’s expression remained unchanged. Something was growing in his eyes though. 

“Yes. My mother would’ve been wed to your friend, carrying him one stag after another. Very much alive but wasting herself in misery. My father would have ruled the Seven Kingdoms, definitely far better than Baratheon does. My half-siblings and princess Elia would’ve been growing and living, instead of rotting. You would have been relieved of the duty as the Lord of Winterfell and I would have never been born,” Jon said gravely and whatever reply Ned had formed died at his throat, at the boy’s cold stare. 

Ned noticed Arthur Dayne looking up and swallowing hard. His eyes were dancing between clouds. Why was he looking at the sky?

“Your children would have never been born either, no doubt instead Brandon Stark would be putting his heirs inside your current wife with fervor. Though from what I have heard about your brother, he’d be doing so with a lot of other women as well; poor Lady Stark would have had multiple bastards to hate and worry about,” Jon continued mercilessly, almost making Ned flush with shame. “Thousands of innocents would have not been killed! Do you think I don’t know that? I am constantly thinking about it! I know I am the walking proof of their disgrace!”

Lord Stark shook his head slowly.

“Jon, don’t…” he tried to stop the boy from putting himself so low, feeling horrible for causing this. 

“At first I was only your disgrace but now I am an even bigger one! But we have the life that was given to us and nothing else,” Jon continued coldly and as the boy’s left cheek tensed a bit, Ned realized that Jon was calm only on the surface; on the inside, he was raging. “I will repeat this one more time. Take care of Highgarden, right away, Lord Stark.”

The older man closed his eyes taking a calming breath. He made a horrible misstep that shamed him.

“I am sorry, Jon. I shouldn’t have spoken out of turn. I simply worry for you,” he honestly said and leaned a bit closer to him, hoping that the boy will notice a genuine concern in his gaze. “The last time we talked you cried in my arms. What happened to you? Is he…” Ned glared at Arthur Dayne and could swear that the warrior tightened the grip on his sword once more, “trying to turn you against me and your family?”

Jon scoffed upon hearing his question. 

“I am not being turned against anyone. I simply learned how true loyalty looks like. Nothing comes above that, Lord Stark. Meanwhile, you had promised me something a year ago and now you are betraying my trust!”

“I am just trying to help you!”

“You are trying to stop me! Why are you doing this, Lord Stark? Have you changed your mind already?! Have you already given up on me? Perhaps turning back to the Stag?” Jon finally raised his voice a bit and Ned stood up.

”Stop acting like a brat!” Ned said with authority, giving Jon a look, that could easily make his children behave; Jon had never been a recipient of it though, he had always been behaving. 

This time all he achieved, though, was facing the point of Dayne’s sword. 

“Calm down and sit down,” the knight threatened coldly.

“Or what?” Ned’s grip on his sword tightened, almost itching for a fight with him. 

“I will finish what I should have years ago. This time no one will stab me in the back to save you, you coward…”

“Put it down,” Jon said simply and Ned noticed that the boy had his face lowered breathing slowly.

Despite the burning fury in his eyes, the kingsguard obeyed instantly. The two older men glared at each other for a while with silent fury, until Ned cleared his throat and sat down. 

“You won’t even call me father again?” he chuckled shaking his head, only then realizing it. 

Not even once, since he came, Jon had addressed him like that. 

“I find it to be unfair towards my real father,” the boy replied coolly and he knew that Jon’s words were perfectly aimed to make as much damage as possible. 

Ned could see it in his cold gaze. Such a show of calculated loathing was deeply unsetting. Jon was never one to hurt anyone intentionally, ever. 

“He is not…” Lord Stark almost lost his breath with outrage. “I raised you!” 

Ned stood up again, allowing his anger to get the better of him. They had manipulated him on that damn Island! 

“You did and for that I will be forever grateful. But only because he was never given the chance, since your usurping friend murdered him. Don’t you agree?” 

Jon clearly decided that their conversation was over and took his leave. Ned was left speechless, watching his boy walking away. When did he become so vicious? Arthur Dayne took a step closer looking at Stark and shielding Jon’s back when he was walking away. The gesture infuriated Ned to no end, more than Jon’s words, more than Dayne’s threats in his own home. Did the Dornish knight expect him to attack his own son from behind? 

Lord Stark was shaking slightly, forcing himself to not raise a weapon upon seeing the pleased, triumphant smirk on the knight’s lips. 

* * *

Vera grimaced when the wooden dummy splintered under Jon’s sword. 

“Could you share with me what happened?” she asked Arthur quietly and the knight exhaled quietly.

“Eddard Stark happened.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.” Arthur shook his head. “Starks… I am telling you, their heads are as thick as iron.” 

“And as empty as a bell,” Vera added raising one eyebrow. “Thankfully, our King is a bit smarter than most. Should I be worried? What happened?” she asked, as below them Jon reached for a waterskin and started gulping down water hungrily. 

“Well, Ned Stark said something he didn’t really mean and Jon answered with something he didn’t really mean.”

“Men…” Vera murmured. “What exactly?”

“Stark basically accused Jon’s parents of not following their duty and causing all the suffering that ensued and our King decided to spit at the wolf by saying that Prince Rhaegar was his real father,” the knight said, sighing heavily. “You wouldn’t be pleased seeing Jon then,” he muttered and glanced at the woman with a forced smile. “He was so cold and controlled for a time…If not for cruel words I would have never detected any anger in his voice but then…” Arthur shook his head. “Ned Stark has some magical ability to ignite the fire within our King.” 

Arthur buckled his sword belt and moved downstairs to offer a spar to his charge, taking advantage of the empty yard. 

“But surely…” he stopped and glanced at Vera. “… it is normal? Just a fit of anger that anyone can feel? Especially a boy that is growing up?” 

She knew what he was worried about. She would have lied claiming she hadn’t considered it as well. 

“I rather think he is much less damaged as some members of his family,” she said with assurance.

“But you never know…” Arthur sighed, walking downstairs. 

Vera bit on her lower lip, watching Jon placing his hands on his knees and breathing heavily. She could see that a few cuts on his hands had been re-opened and his knuckles were bleeding again.

Yes, sadly, you never know. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9 was a very demanding and hard thing to write and I am curious what you think about it 😊


	10. Out of Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon walks the fine line and the dragon's boredom only adds to the drama.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your ongoing support. I couldn't believe the subscriptions and hits count! This one is again a very long piece... You will need around 40 minutes to finish it. 
> 
> Jon's thoughts are in italic. 
> 
> Big thanks to Onar27 for beta-reading! This story just wouldn't be the same without your help! 😊

“Thank you for coming, Lord Varys,” Jon Arryn smiled softly at the perfumed eunuch and gestured for him to take a seat.

The bald man moved slowly, as he usually did, and gently nodded his head. Jon waited for the man to sit more comfortably and only then he raised the short letter he had received from Ned.

“I assume you know?” the Hand of the King asked, observing the Master of Whispers cautiously, but as always, Varys’ face didn’t betray anything. 

The man simply nodded in confirmation. 

“My birds have sung a song of guests from an unexpected place. Although, it is a very recent song, my Lord.”

“Yes…” Jon sighed and looked at the short letter, trying to discern something more from the blunt words his former ward had used. 

But the few sentences that Ned had written were simple, to the point, nothing beyond a piece of polite information. It was simply all that the Warden of the North had been obliged to report, when he decided to start a partnership with lands unknown to the crown; nothing more, nothing less. 

“What do we know about these foreigners, Lord Varys?” Jon questioned and winced as he sat down. 

His back was giving him warning signals more and more often lately. You cannot outrun age, he assumed. He was growing older and weaker and the only consolation was that his mind remained as sharp as it used to be at his young age. 

“Aside from the fact that they have been avoiding us for hundreds of years?” Varys slightly mocked in answer. “We know their deposits to the Iron Bank in Braavos are solid and regular. We know that despite being a small, stone-covered land up North, they have never asked for any aid, have never looked for any contact… They trade with Braavos mostly, what I assume to be a strange forte as the thing they buy is grain and dragonglass. The same grain and dragonglass that the Braavosi are buying for them from Highgarden and Lord Stannis,” Varys continued, looking quite pleased with himself. 

Varys had delivered the information like it was common knowledge and yet Jon was completely shocked by it. If they had been availing themselves of Westerosi resources already, why did they turn to the North now? Did Braavos raise the margin? He could also understand purchasing grain, but what did they need dragonglass for? Obsidian was nothing but some worthless stone. The Hand’s musings were interrupted by Varys again. 

“And the last bird that flew there, never returned to me,” the eunuch revealed and Jon raised his eyebrows in a silent request of elaboration. “King Aerys insisted; among his many paranoid ideas was the notion that Hidden Island was home to monsters, only waiting to attack us. The child I had sent there was sweet and clever, he took a ship from Braavos…” Varys shrugged not finishing. “I received a nice pendant sometime later,” Varys sighed as he brushed his robes, even though they were immaculate. “A silver bird without a head. I decided that the message was clear enough and dropped the idea of sending someone else.”

The Hand of the King exhaled deeply and tried to sit more comfortably to appease his severe back pain. 

“So, we don’t know what their agenda is, not really. Perhaps they can no longer sustain themselves without outside aid?”

“And perhaps they are willing to pay good coin for that aid?” Varys suggested.

The Hand of the King only nodded in contemplation. Both members of the small council knew exactly how empty their treasury was and how many debts they were in. With the Lannisters, with the Iron Bank…soon, they were going to be forced to seek a partnership with other cities from Essos. It would be foolish to miss an opportunity to strike a deal with Hidden Island. After all, despite them being independent from Westeros, they were of the First Men. And while the Faith would most probably object to them colluding with tree worshiping heathens, as they’d say, at least it wouldn’t be with foreigners from Essos and their disgusting slave trading ways.

Still…

Jon looked down at the letter from Ned, being unable to shake off a strange feeling. There was something in it that was giving him unrest. Why did Hidden Island decide to strike a partnership with the North out of all of the Seven Kingdoms? The frozen and most wild part of Westeros shared the same deficiency Hidden Island had; a lack of favorable natural conditions to grow crops. Did they pick the North simply because the Northerners were the most similar to them in their upbringing and beliefs? 

“I have heard…” Varys started slowly once again, causing Jon to look up at him. “That the bastard son of Lord Stark played a role in initiating this partnership. It is said he has been living amongst them for over a year.”

The Hand of the King frowned at that. He hadn’t thought about Ned’s bastard son in a while…there was always something strange in the fact that Ned had lost his head and had betrayed his vows for some woman; that was his other ward’s specialty after all. Jon had been curious who that woman had been to make even Ned stray, but the man had never revealed her name to anyone. 

“Hidden Island can be a good friend,” Lord Arryn finally declared under his breath thoughtfully; mostly because of their famed silver mines, he added in his head. “I am considering inviting them here, to King’s Landing. Perhaps they will be willing to agree to a deal in trade with the crown? They have been purchasing dragonglass from Braavos, as you just informed me and the King’s brother has been selling to Braavos; perhaps we can eliminate the middle man?”

“They may agree on that,” the eunuch approved carefully “or disagree more likely. They did pick the North on their own accord and perhaps…” Varys trailed off, raising his eyebrows.

“They take the invitation as an insult?” Jon finished in frustration.

“We both know, it is going to look like a summon to them, from a king that they don’t owe fealty to.”

The Hand shook his head in irritation and threw the letter across the desk, furrowing his brows. There was something there, he felt, and his instincts usually served him right; there was something more in this strange visit than what met the eye. Something strange was happening up North in general. 

First, there was Ned’s suggestion of a betrothal between his eldest daughter, Sansa and Prince Joffrey. It was always what the King was planning, he knew, but Ned acting on it first, came as a great surprise to him. Robert had been naturally ecstatic, of course, but Jon had found something peculiar in the proposal. Somehow, it didn’t feel natural for Ned to thrust his daughter towards Kings Landing, the vipers’ nest, as Ned sometimes had called it. And into the arms of Joffrey, no less. Though, he supposed that Ned had no way to know about the boy and his alarming disposition. Still, he couldn’t imagine a daughter of Ned Stark as the wife of that boy. 

He missed Ned, his beloved adopted son…for so many years he had not seen his face, hadn’t spoken with him. Had Ned changed so much that he would be inclined to seek his daughter become a Queen? But mayhaps Jon was reading too much into it. It was always going to happen anyway, and Robert and Ned had been as close as brothers, once; this could be a way of rekindling their friendship. Perhaps it was the influence of his wife too. Catelyn would be primed to seek the best possible betrothals for her children; just like her father before her, he thought, wincing as his mind strayed to his own wife. 

Jon put a hand on his hurting back and bit on his lower lip. From all people in this world, Ned was the only one whom he trusted completely. And now, with these horrible and probably unfounded suspicions in his mind, wouldn’t it be prudent to offer a meet with him in private, on the lands of the North, far away from the prying eyes and spies of Kings Landing? He was curious as to what Ned would think about Joffrey. Would he notice something in the boy, something that Jon had tried to convince himself he couldn’t see, even as plain as it was? 

“I have a very bold idea, Lord Varys,” Jon declared as he stood up slowly and looked outside the window, at the view from the Tower of the Hand. “And I would need your help to achieve it.”

Varys raised his eyebrows politely in question. 

“It is time to visit the North. They were the King’s most loyal supporters during the rebellion, it is home of our future Queen; it would be only understandable if our Prince had a burning desire to meet his future wife, don’t you think?”

The eunuch gave him a look that even in his stoic face spelled out his doubt of such a statement.

“Queen Cersei will not agree to such a trip…” the Master of Whispers warned and Jon tried not to wince, as he thought of the woman’s potential reaction; While not as disturbing, as his own wife’s was at times, the Queen’s attachment to her children, and especially to the Crown Prince, was not a laughing matter. 

“I don’t need Queen Cersei to agree or to accompany us. I just need the Prince to make the journey. I will go there myself in the name of the King. And maybe it will be good for the boy, too. Maybe away from the Red Keep and his mother’s claws he can finally…”

“Stop gutting living creatures?” the eunuch finished for the Hand in a jesting voice, which made the Hand of the King glare at him warningly; the man sighed. “Still, the Queen…”

“I will speak with Robert. Beyond that, I feel we must meet those strange Islanders. Call it a hunch, Lord Varys, but this is a good opportunity. I must go there.”

The Master of Whispers grimaced, throwing him a pitying look. 

“I don’t envy you, Lord Hand…”

Varys proved to be right, just as Jon knew he’d be. His suggestion for him and the Crown Prince to travel to Winterfell caused Queen Cercei to almost claw his eyes out. But Robert, as always, was in his grip, firmly and securely. Besides all it took was a mention of Ned meeting his son for him to enthusiastically agree. 

“The boy will be a man soon; it is about time for him to visit the kingdoms, to allow his people to see him and to appraise their future monarch.”

“But to travel to the other side of Westeros?! At the home of savage heathens? And then… you are going to send him where some foreigner barbarians are staying as well? Have you lost your mind?!” the lioness screamed angrily, strands of her golden hair escaping their intricate do up to fall on her burning face and for a flashing second, Robert’s hand raised in her direction, his face turning red just as quickly.

Jon’s stern gaze stopped the King at the last moment. 

“You will take care how you speak about the home of my dearest friend, woman!” Robert warned infuriated. “My decision is final!” the king growled and he threw out his arm for his cupbearer to pour him more wine. 

“I will not allow my son to go North by his own! I will order…”

“You will order nothing!” Robert was in her face and Jon lowered his head momentarily hoping that the situation would not escalate. “I am the King and it is my order that counts! You pushed him out of your cunt fifteen years ago but he still acts like he is nestled there. He is going.”

Robert glared down at Joffrey, who as always, in the presence of his father, seemed to be smaller and almost invisible. Cersei’s eyes shone with tears, either of humiliation or fury. More than once, Jon pitied her. On more than one occasion, he hated her greatly though. Robert turned to his eldest son and waved his goblet of wine at his face, almost pouring it on the boy. 

“You will go and you will show what a good heir and a friend of the North you are, do you understand? I will not have my son hide in his mother’s skirts forever! Do you think you are capable of that?”

Joffrey nodded simply, risking one last glance at his mother. His son…Jon thought bitterly, looking the boy over, as he often did these days and considering his physique; he pushed these thoughts down, however. Surely the boy was Robert’s son. 

“I want the appropriate amount of guards to be sent with him!” Cersei snarled angrily. 

“I will send Barristan with him,” Robert rolled his eyes. 

“And Jaime! Joff will not move outside King’s Landing without Jaime!”

“Ser Jaime is welcome to come,” Jon agreed with her. “Perhaps Ser Trant as well? Three of the Kingsguard and…” Jon hesitated. “A hundred additional guards?”

“A hundred?! My son will have at least three!”

Jon realized that Robert had already decided to ignore their negotiations. His eyes had glassed over as he stared at nothing; probably day dreaming of travelling to Winterfell himself and meeting Ned and his family. Thankfully, Jon had managed to dissuade these thoughts for the time being, since with his nameday coming up the King was pretty excited about the upcoming feasts to honor him. 

“You will see for yourself your future wife! And meet Ned!” the king told his son finally, laughingly interrupting Jon’s argument with the Queen. “Oh, Northern girls are the prettiest, just like my Lyanna was…” 

He turned from them and staggered over to his chair and sat heavily, his gaze moving somewhere up, clearly losing interest in their presence. Jon knew that Robert hid in his own little world and there was no point in trying to drag him from there. 

Cersei looked furious and the anger in her eyes almost left Jon shaking. But it was not their first fight and surely, not the last one. He turned back to her and glared back, denying giving an inch. He knew he had won this battle. 

* * *

Jon read the letter and nodded his approval, giving it back to Lord Stark. Ned took it silently and exhaled loudly. It was almost done; he only needed to put his seal there.

"Are you sure Jon? I still believe Margaery Tyrell would be a better match to you. The Tyrells..."

"I know everything about them," Jon interrupted softly. "Arthur described the Tyrells to me. They are opportunistic cowards in a way, aren't they? Why do you think they would back me now, when all I have to offer is alleged support of the North and my alleged birthright? Would they support me if they learned the truth this early on or rather run to the Stag to secure themselves a nice seat on the Throne? They would call you a traitor too, if only to take out Sansa as a potential match for the Stag Prince. I will not risk you or anyone else in this family."

Ned's heart soared hearing that and Jon too seemed to realize the fact that he had allowed his worry for him to show. 

"They could have joined my father at the Trident, but they waited to see what would be best for them. I will be more careful with choosing my friends,” he went on to say. “Call for Robb," Jon insisted nodding at the seal and urging Ned to put it down. "I know what I am doing."

If Ned was irritated that Jon was barking orders at him, he didn’t let it show. He summoned Maester Luwin inside, gave him the now sealed letter, and asked for Robb to be escorted to his solar. Jon and Lord Stark were waiting in silence for Robb’s arrival. Ned opened his mouth a few times wanting to start a conversation but every time he found himself unable to force the words out of his mouth, seeing his son’s cold uninterested face. Jon was like a piece of ice since their argument the previous day, acting almost like Ned was invisible. There was something unbelievably childish in this silent treatment and yet, Jon’s controlled and emotionless expression could pass for a spectacle of maturity. 

He would do well as a king, Ned realized suddenly. If he was given the chance, those cold eyes would be able to demand great respect from many lords. 

“Catelyn was very pleased with my idea of joining our family with the Tyrells,” Ned finally started, but Jon glared at him with so much irritation that he instantly shut his mouth.

“If you aim to strike a pleasant talk with me by mentioning Lady Stark, you should reconsider your cleverness, my Lord,” Jon announced with an eye roll. 

Ned threw him an equally venomous glare in return and decided to remain quiet. Under Dayne’s influence, his boy really did turn into a snotty brat. 

Robb was confused upon finding Jon and Ned waiting for him in such a tense silence, avoiding each other’s gazes. He was even more confused when Ned informed him of the proposed betrothal he had just sent on its way. 

“What about Alys? I met her a few times and I thought…” Robb stuttered. 

“Winter is coming,” his father interrupted harshly, looking anywhere but at him. “We need the supplies that Highgarden can provide.”

Robb turned his head to look at his brother and sighed in realization. 

“Father told you to come and help calm me down, right?” the older boy asked and Jon decided only to shrug at his brother's suggestion. “No need!” Robb raised his head proudly looking back at his father. “I understand my duties towards my people.” 

Jon glanced at Ned raising his eyebrows. 

_Do you see?_ he seemed to mock. _It wasn’t hard at all!_

“We have all heard that Margaery Tyrell is one of the most beautiful women in the Seven Kingdoms,” Jon offered lightly with a small smirk. “I must say I envy you, brother. You will be married to a great beauty.”

Robb smiled gently hearing his brother’s teasing confession. 

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Many people claim her to even surpass the Queen in looks. But first Tyrells have to accept our offer,” Ned murmured reaching for his drink.

Jon stood up and smiled tersely at Ned. 

“Why wouldn’t they? Soon Robb is going to be a good brother to the King… He is known as the eldest son of the most honorable and chivalrous man in Westeros. The North is the biggest kingdom with the best warriors. They would be fools to throw such an opportunity away. Not even mentioning…” Jon embraced Robb with one arm and pinched his cheek. “That no woman could possibly resist such a pretty face.”

Robb snickered pushing Jon away and turned towards the exit.

“My face isn’t pretty. Yours is.”

“No, yours is…”

Hearing their bickering Ned Stark almost smiled. Almost. He felt his heart growing a bit lighter, but then Jon decided to destroy the mood. 

“Come Robb,” the boy said, patting his brother on the arm. “Lord Stark has mentioned he needs to speak with Lord Karstark. We should not take up any more of his time.” 

Jon almost pushed Robb outside, his eyes focused on Ned the whole time. 

* * *

“This is insane…” Robb rasped trying to catch a breath. “You didn’t even break a sweat!”

Jon smiled broadly hearing his brother’s praise. 

“Oh, I did… Do you want to smell?” he japed playfully and raised his arm, offering his brother the armpit to inspect; he was rewarded with a glare. 

He could tell everyone was impressed. Arthur most of all. The knight was trying to hide behind a column of the balcony but Jon could see him, his almost giddy posture and the shit-eating grin plastered to his bearded face. Jon hadn’t realized how good with a sword he had gotten during this last year, until he crossed blades once more with the boys he had been sparring with all his life. Theon was child’s play, Robb was an amusement and Jory was a slight inconvenience. Both Jory and Robb were a good spar. Ser Roderick simply stated he had nothing more to teach him, looking utterly dumbfounded by the enormous progress Jon had made. Meanwhile, Jon was beaming, proud like a peacock. It was the first time he had allowed himself to show his abilities in public. It was a good feeling, exhilarating. 

_We are amazing_ , he decided but paused realizing that he just spoke about himself in a plural form. _Bloody dragon_. 

“Who was your teacher?” Jory grumbled handing Robb a waterskin. 

Jon shrugged nonchalantly focusing more on his hands and avoiding looking up where Arthur stood. Once again, a few small cuts had re-opened and Jon was sure Vera would try to strangle him later for that. The bleeding wasn’t really serious, but it hurt more and more with every passing second. _If I could just stop the pain…_ Jon blinked feeling a strange tingling in his fingers out of a sudden. Frowning, he followed the strange emotion, a bit surprised upon finding such a big storage of strength within him. Everyone was looking at him with anticipation, though and he remembered he had been asked a question. 

“There are good warriors at Hidden Island. I am bound to protect Lady Vera, so I have to spend a lot of time training; every day, for a few hours.”

It was a feasible lie, but the truth was that Arthur was a merciless monster during their spars. There was not one false movement that the knight would not correct, not one incorrect attitude in approaching a fight he would not try to banish. He was always apologizing at the beginning of the spar and then beat the shit out of Jon without any shame, leaving him bruised and tired and causing Vera to pull her hair out in frustration. The knight liked to say that the smart warrior must always assume his opponent was better, faster and stronger. There was no place for bragging or showing off during a fight, no time to try on any expandable movements. According to Arthur, the moment you crossed a blade with someone, you need to be focused on only one thing – to kill your opponent before he kills you. Jon tried handling himself with dignity after every failure. He probably never be able to reach Arthur’s level but still, he needed to be as good as possible if he was to face the Others one day. They were something beyond human. 

He noticed that Jory and Robb shared an eye roll. 

“You are good, lad…” the captain of the guard patted his arm with a chuckle. “Good job.” 

Robb seemed to be a bit disappointed; it was his first real loss against Jon after all. Smiling warmly, Jon took hold of his brother and patted his cheek. 

“Don’t pout, I will teach you a few moves…” he offered and received a slight punch in the stomach in return. 

“You better. But first, let’s eat.” 

At the mention of food Jon's stomach grumbled loudly and an almost childlike excitement came over him. When a few moments later he was pilling his plate with sausages and ham he noticed Robb’s worried gaze. 

“What?” he asked frowning.

“Don’t take it the wrong way but… you eat a lot lately,” Robb said slowly. 

Jon started to chew more slowly, looking at his brother with surprise.

“A lot? Are you saying I’m getting fat?” he asked with raised eyebrows. 

“No!” Robb quickly denied and his cheeks grew a bit red. “What I am saying is…”

“You eat like a pig,” Theon added sitting next to them. “You eat and eat, almost devouring the food. Haven’t you noticed? Drop the fork and knife, just use your hands. By the way, they are bleeding, don’t you feel it?” 

Jon looked at his plate and Robb’s and Theon’s portions. His was double and truly, he was famished. Theon was also right in describing the state of his knuckles. Jon felt no pain and yet, he felt trickle of blood moving down his hand, a few drops of blood tainting his food. Feeling a bit silly, he took a sip of his wine wondering what was wrong with him. He felt almost full but a part of his mind was screaming at him to eat more, to bite and chew, to… 

_Well, fuck_. 

Jon chuckled, trying to hide the fact that his heart had started beating faster. 

“You are right,” he cleared his throat, cutting another part of the meat slowly and more moderately. “I just missed our good food. The Islanders eat shit, that’s why they are so skinny!” he japed goodheartedly but at the same time he tried to do something, he had never done before. 

Jon searched for the ever-existing presence in the back of his mind. He found it and he kicked it viciously. He jumped a moment later gasping, feeling his body growing impossibly hot. He felt annoyance, boredom, and hunger, the blood in his veins almost singing with it. By the Gods, he was so strong though! The dragon could sense him in his mind as well and did a trick of his own, sending his way a desire so strong that Jon almost launched over the table to take hold of Theon’s face and smash it over the table, wanting to feel his hot blood between his fingers. He wanted so horribly to inflict pain and destruction.

 _Oh, you scaly asshole_. 

Jon took a deep breath and quickly tried to put some kind of a wall between his mind and the dragon’s. After a second he sensed a wave of amusement and mockery being sent his way and he was once again fully himself.

Valasin was hungry and bored, which was a very bad mixture. What’s worse, he was somehow transferring his urges on Jon and the boy felt slightly dizzy. If he had been irritated at Theon for some reason and the dragon had stricken him with a wave of bloodlust then... 

_By the Gods, I would have killed this poor squid at the spot!_

Jon tried to inform the dragon that he understood his needs and he would come to him soon. He vowed to find him some entertainment, at the same time worrying what the heck he could do here to assure that. 

_Just please leave me alone_ , he begged shamelessly. 

To his utter surprise, he felt something akin to pleasure and serenity surrounding him almost instantly. 

“I am telling you, he turned into a nitwit,” he heard Theon’s cackling. 

Jon turned his gaze towards the Ironborn and realized that during his mental communication with the beast, he was probably looking into space with an absent expression; so he decided to ignore the jab. 

“Maybe he is a nitwit but she keeps looking at him,” Robb said wiggling his eyebrows. 

Jon glanced at the other side of the hall, where Sansa was seated with other girls. Jeyne did look at him a couple of times today; and on many other occasions. He could recognize the look, as many women on Hidden Island were looking at him like that. Theon’s face turned into an ugly grimace when he heard Robb’s mockery. 

“That’s because I am an old novelty. She is curious, that’s all,” Jon lightly rebuffed, hiding his face in the cup. 

Theon was glaring at him openly now, so Jon focused on his meal, making sure not to look back at Jeyne. He didn’t need the drama. 

“If she ignores a man as fine as Theon, I have no chance,” he decided to joke and the Ironborn sneered at him again, while Robb laughed. “By the way, it is past time I gave Sansa her gift…” he sighed heavily.

It was easy to spend time with Arya. His little sister was trailing after him all the time and was ecstatic about the sword he gave her. She had called it Needle and he had to admit that the name was good for the thin blade. Jon even promised her that his personal guard would spend a few hours with her to teach her some basic moves, the promise itself causing Arya to almost suffocate him with a tight hug. He was laughing in his mind trying to imagine Arya’s face in a couple of years, when she would learn that the famous Arthur Dayne was the one to introduce her to sword fighting. 

Sansa was avoiding him like he had greyscale though, probably at the orders of her mother. Jon wanted to be civil with Sansa, as she was his little sister still. For so many years she had been treating him with mistrust and indifference and he feared that she would grow to hate him truly, when her dream of becoming Joffrey’s Queen would be crushed by his claim to the throne. He didn’t want that. He wanted her to love him, to like him genuinely at least. 

The dress that Vera had picked for her was light like the fog, blue and made of a fabric that Vera had shipped in from Volantis. Jon expected the dress to be more Stark-themed but Vera simply said that something more widespread would do better. Jon had no clue, so he only shrugged but had to admit the dress was simply stunning. When he learned how much it had cost, he decided it’d better be the prettiest dress ever created. A few pieces of fabric just couldn’t be so expensive… But girls like Sansa appreciated pretty dresses, so he had requested a nice chest to be prepared for this ridiculously expensive treasure. Such a gift would surely warm his sister towards him, right? 

When later that evening Jon stood in front of Sansa in her room and saw the very apparent scowl on her face, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

His sister was trading her fingers over the light fabric, carefully watching the complicated embroidery around the cleavage with her eyes round in wonder. Jon could say she was amazed by it and he felt his lips rising in a smile already. He reached for a chair to sit next to Sansa, to try and start some conversation with her for the first time he could remember, but suddenly she spoke and he froze. 

“No proper lady would wear a dress with a cleavage so low,” Sansa informed haughtily, casting his gift aside, even when her eyes trailed after the dress longingly. “I cannot accept a gift so improper. It would be fitting more for… some foreign savage, not me.” 

Jon loosed the hold of the chair and felt his small smile vanish completely. 

“It is fit more for the Islanders and their customs perhaps, but Vera suggested you would appreciate something different than…”

Sansa’s eyes flashed with anger and she didn’t even allow him to finish the sentence. 

“I am aware of what is fitting for me. As the future Queen of Westeros, I cannot wear something that some foreign… woman…of ill reputation would suggest. The proper lady…”

“No proper lady would have so rudely declined a gracious gift,” he cut in coldly, grabbing the abandoned dress from bed and throwing it back inside the chest.

Sansa became almost red, hearing him confronting her like that openly, but his temper was a precarious thing these days and she shouldn’t have insulted Vera. 

“But I assume that you are afraid to put on something that a bastard was holding a moment ago,” he continued venomously, gritting his teeth hard. “Afraid to get some incurable rash?” he mocked. 

He didn’t want to admit it, but her refusal hurt him. It cut deep, making his hands shake and his heart thump with sadness. He hadn’t even considered the scenario where she would rebuff the gift. It was a gesture of good will, something small to make her feel nice. He had always treated Sansa well, caring for her and worrying about her, while she had never shown him any sympathy in return. Still, he had actually hoped she had missed him just a bit. 

Old Jon would have just nodded with shame and ran. The new one wanted to put Sansa in her place. The dragon was raising his ugly head demanding some blood, wanting some suffering and the weak part of Jon allowed him to do just that. 

“Learn to fake it a bit. If you were to become a Queen one day…” he said, while maliciously thinking that it shall never fucking happen, “you must always be gracious and subservient, working hard to not offend anyone. Theoretically, someone with so little of an actual character as you should have no problem with acting like that. Sadly, you also lack a mind of your own, so who knows what a scandal your empty words can cause… ” 

Jeyne, seated next to Sansa seemed to be horrified by their conversation, watching the siblings with shock and clearly regretting she was trapped with them in the same room. But Jon closed the chest loudly, making the girls jump. Next, he just silently took the chest and left the room, immensely satisfied with the look of horror on Sansa’s face. He doubted anyone had ever spoken to her like that. He wanted to make a swift exit but he was reminded of the Septa’s words. 

“I shall leave you; it’s not safe to stay with bastards in the same room!” he said loudly mocking Septa Mordane’s tone. 

The guard stationed next to his door almost fell when Jon passed him in a hurry, looking like a storm cloud. 

“Bitch,” he spat, putting the chest on the table in his room.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure if the insult was intended for the Septa or Sansa. 

He was almost shaking with anger and yet felt tears prickling his eyes. He was mad at himself now for showing such weakness. Ghost moved from under his bed and nudged his leg silently and he looked at the direwolf and smiled softly.

“You are growing so nicely,” he praised. “And Vera dared to say you would die soon!” 

He scratched him behind his ear and the puppy wiggled his tail happily. Ghost was gently pattering in front of the door and Jon knew it meant he needed to leave, so he opened the door for his pup and gestured him outside with a nod. One of the Islanders was standing nearby and Jon simply nodded, the man instantly following the direwolf puppy downstairs to watch over him.

Ghost was his and he must be protected at all times. 

Jon closed the door again and rubbed his forehead. Why was he so horribly sad and angry? He shouldn’t care, others were nice enough to him. They missed him even. It was only Sansa. 

But she was his blood. For a moment he remembered the girl he had freed from the slavers. Her innocent blue eyes and his thoughts when he was killing the man who had wronged her. All he had been thinking then was that her eyes were like Sansa’s… and that he would have killed for her without hesitation.

And she couldn’t just accept a stupid dress!

He screamed with frustration, punching the wooden chest with his fist. 

Suddenly, he wanted to leave Winterfell. He wanted to go home, to people that respected and loved him. At Hidden Island everyone listened to what he had to say. They were worshipping him and Jon had to admit he had grown vain deep down, just like his dragon was, fishing for unwavering devotion. Few days in Winterfell and he had once again started to doubt himself and had given into old habits and insecurities. Feeling frustrated, he flung the chest at the wall. Neither the wall nor the chest broke, much to his annoyance. 

He rubbed his cheeks feeling his hunger growing. Was it his or maybe the dragon’s? Sometimes he couldn’t separate their needs. Sometimes he didn’t want to separate them, only feel what Valasin feels. Hunger, boredom and bloodlust. Basic, easy emotions, animal-like and primal. But he knew he couldn’t. Horrible things would take place if he lost his human side. 

He sat down on the cold floor and took a calming breath. He jumped in surprise upon hearing the soft knock but he realized that it probably was only his pup being escorted back to his side. The guard simply opened his door slightly allowing Ghost to move back and then gave Jon his privacy. The puppy ran to him and sat on his lap, eagerly licking Jon’s cheek. 

He was alone here… Vera wasn’t looking at him silently trying to read into his expression. Jon embraced Ghost strongly, nestling his face into the soft white fur. 

“You will keep it to yourself, right?” he murmured feeling his lower lip tremble. “Can I?” he asked in a strained voice. 

The puppy moved impossibly closer, almost like he was trying to hug Jon. So Jon hugged him back and finally let the tears escape his eyes and fall onto his companion’s fur, as Jon hugged him tightly, looking for some comfort. 

* * *

In the middle of the night, he was awakened from the strangest dream. For the briefest moment he could swear he pissed himself or that his cock just gave up under a dreamy desire, so he sat up on the bed and looked under the blanket. Thankfully he was dry. There was a growing suspicion in him though, so he lit the candle next to his bed. He sat up and groaned seeing a wet spot in the middle of the room and Ghost seated next to it and watching Jon without any trace of remorse on his fluffy face. The message his ruby eyes held was clear – you should have let me out human. It is all on you.

He could have called for servants but Ghost was his responsibility, so Jon stood up and started cleaning. 

“It was you, wasn’t it?” he murmured wringing out a rag to the bucket he had fetched. “Not only the dragon wants a part of my mind, but you also want to grab something for yourself as well? Bad boy!”

Ghost only yawned at his accusation. 

When he finished, he found himself unable to fall back asleep, so he put a robe over his night clothes and walked outside. Ghost seemed to be pleased with the fact that the human finally understood his needs and trailed after him happily. Jon stopped at the balcony and looked up watching the night sky covered by thousands of stars. He wanted to go to Valasin and fly high above all, feeling free and lighthearted.

 _I have to visit him soon. I have to make sure he is fine and I just need to bask in his strength and magnificence to pacify him. But most of all, I need to speak with him about messing with my head_. 

The castle was quiet, even the guards at the gate were sleeping ignoring their duties. He could do just that, he realized. He could sneak away, ride into the Wolfswood and open the bond with Valasin, calling for him, demanding for the dragon to come and take him away. Ghost had nestled at his feet and was slowly dozing off. 

Jon instinctively reached to his hip looking for the sword that wasn’t there, when he heard steps, but he relaxed noticing a small figure coming towards him. At first, he thought it was Vera but when she came closer, he recognized her face; Jeyne. She was covered by an additional layer of furs, shielding herself from the cold. 

“I am sorry for interrupting,” she said quietly stopping at the balcony next to him. “I wanted to go and get something from the kitchen.”

 _You didn’t have to take the outside route_ , he thought amused. 

“Snacking in the middle of the night?” he smiled but Jeyne only shrugged in answer. 

“The Septa is limiting my portions lately, as to not let me get too fat,” the girl shrugged as she lowered her gaze and covered herself more tightly. “Lemon cakes are my weakness.” 

“You are definitely not going fat,” he said simply shaking his head. “I’m sure very soon your father will start receiving betrothal requests from every castle in the North.”

She gasped faking shock at his words but at the same time there was a twinkle in her eyes. His compliment clearly flattered her. After a brief moment of hesitation, she looked up just like he did. 

“Do you think once upon a time, Targaryens who had dragons were able to reach the stars and touch them?” she asked out of nowhere and Jon looked at her suspiciously.

She seemed genuinely curious and there didn’t appear to be any hidden meaning to her words. Jon tried to swallow his astonishment at such a question being aimed at him and relaxed his shoulders that had tensed up. 

“I don’t think it’s possible. There are too high, even for dragons,” he explained, thinking that it was actually something Valasin had admitted he couldn’t do. “But I heard that a star had once fallen down on earth.”

“Truly?”

“Yes. House’s Dayne family sword, Dawn, was forged from that falling star.”

Jeyne’s eyes grew big and she turned to Jon fully. 

“Really? Do you know how it looks like?”

“I heard it is so silver that it seems almost white and is very light for a blade so big. It shines…” he smiled as he pointed up. “Just like stars do.”

“I would like to see it…” Jeyne said dreamily. 

“Me too…” Jon admitted. 

And Arthur would like to as well, Jon knew. He had been away from his famous and much beloved blade for many years. 

“It’s at Starfall, House Dayne’s castle. It was actually Lord Stark that delivered it there. I want go there one day and see it.”

_I will go there and get it back for Arthur, so he could finally become his old self._

_Why am I even amusing her with a conversation_ , he thought angrily. How many times had this girl sneered at him, alongside Sansa, how many times did she call Arya a ‘horseface’, making his little sister sad and insecure? The fleeting thought of pushing her off the balcony went through his mind and almost instantly he grew pale upon realizing where his mind had once again strayed. He really needed to speak with this accursed dragon. 

Jeyne started to talk about a book she had read lately, about tournaments and Jon forced himself to smile at her politely. Despite at first wanting to be anywhere but next to her, they were talking about everything and nothing in particular for quite some time. He had to admit, although rather begrudgingly, that Jeyne turned out to be a soft-spoken and very gentle girl. She was quite sweet when Sansa wasn’t around. 

She was covering herself more and more with her robe shaking slightly and Jon finally suggested she should go back inside. 

“Yes, I should,” she said slowly worrying her lower lip. “But before I go, I think you should know that the dress was very beautiful. I have never seen fabric so smooth. And the cleavage wasn’t too low cut,” Jeyne continued looking somewhere sideways. “Sansa just needed to find an excuse; she was not allowed to accept a gift from you. I am sure she would gladly wear it otherwise.” 

“I know…” he admitted grimly. 

He thought about his earlier anger and couldn’t deny that Sansa had succeeded in making him feel bad. Not Sansa, he decided, Catelyn Stark. She won somehow because under his whole anger, he was simply sad that a girl, who had grown up with him, hated him without any reason. 

_But soon, I will give her a good reason to hate me, when I will personally crush her dreams of becoming the wife of her dreamy Stag Prince_. 

“You can have the dress if you want. It’s not going to fit me,” he japed weakly thinking about the whole scandal such a gift would probably cause. 

Jeyne seemed to be completely shocked by his proposal and quickly shook her head. 

“I could not! You are…”

“Some bastard?” Jon interrupted her a bit harshly and Jeyne looked up at him ashamed.

“No, yes, well…” she stuttered. “A gift like that would not be appropriate; you are not my family or my intended.” 

The last word was almost inaudible and hearing her explanation Jon snickered. 

“Of course, I almost forgot about our rules,” he murmured turning away from Jeyne. 

Why was she still standing there and taking his time? The Gods knew he was acting like a prick towards her. 

“I also meant that such dresses, so fine and expensive, are not meant for someone like me,” Jeyne added and he felt like an asshole hearing the genuine sadness and shame in her tone. 

Not for a steward’s daughter, he understood. He once more felt anger building up inside him. This was this world, he knew so well. Unfair. Pretty dresses were meant for highborn mean ladies like Sansa, not sweet girls like Jeyne born in minor houses. 

“And I am sorry if my words have offended you, it was not my intention,” Jeyne continued in a tiny voice.

Jon exhaled deeply and closed his eyes in shame. Not only was he acting unnecessarily harsh, but he was also rude. For some reason being rude towards a gentle girl caused him bigger shame than being harsh. 

_Vera would be disappointed in me._

“We can have whatever we want, no matter who we are,” he said trying to sound kinder. “Don’t consider yourself to be worth less than my sister just because of the circumstances of your birth. You are a sweet and pretty girl, and I already can say you are at least a few times smarter than Sansa.”

Jeyne clearly had no answer to his unexpected praise because she only shrugged weakly. They stood in a strange, almost suffocating silence for a moment, Jeyne embarrassed and Jon trying not to fume with silent anger. 

“I should go,” she whispered eventually and Jon nodded and tried to smile at her softly, turning back to watch the stars. 

He was in no mood to keep up a polite conversation any longer; especially one that could be considered inappropriate by many. 

“Yes, you should go back to your room, Jeyne. We don’t want anyone to see you with me so late at night.”

The girl blushed deeply and mumbled something, moving quickly toward her room.

“Jeyne?” Jon called after her with a small smirk and she looked up with a question. “The kitchen is the other direction,” he reminded her playfully.

The girl froze almost comically looking at him with a horrified expression. 

“I just…” she started with hesitation. 

“Decided to wait till morning without a snack?” Jon offered with raised eyebrows and Jeyne exhaled in relief at his suggested excuse and nodded. “Sleep well, Jeyne,” he smiled softly and watched after her as she was hurrying down the corridor. 

Shaking his head at this whole strange encounter he looked up at the sky and sighed heavily.

“Go to our room Ghost,” he insisted looking down at the puppy. “I have to visit someone.”

* * *

“I hope you were not planning to sneak outside without a guard?” 

Jon froze next to his horse, upon hearing the gruff voice, full of reprimand. Arthur stood casually at the entrance of the stables, watching him with narrowed eyes. 

“I don’t need protection when I’m around him,” the boy simply stated, as he finished buckling up the saddle. “Even if you were to come with me, you would be unable to come closer to him.”

“But he is deep in the Wolfswood and the road there will take you at least an hour at full speed, your Grace,” Arthur reminded him softly. 

Jon turned to him sharply and glared at this Kingsguard. 

“Do not call me that, not here!” 

Ser Arthur sighed heavily, clearly fighting with himself. After an agonizingly long moment he risked sharing his opinion. 

“Something is wrong… you can always speak with me if something is bothering you.”

Jon looked up shyly, feeling suddenly like a jerk for being so short with him a moment ago. Everyone was trying to help him, he knew. But with what was bothering him, no one could help him. 

“I appreciate that but you will not understand, Arthur,” Jon admitted eventually, being unable to hide the frustration from his voice, while he mounted his horse and took hold of the reins tightly. “Only a dragon can understand.”

Arthur paused next to him and gently patted the horse on the neck.

“I may not be a dragon but I can tell you are struggling. Mayhaps it is this beast’s fault but mayhaps it had more to do with Winterfell itself,” the knight offered looking at Jon seriously. “I, for myself, would have never expected to say that, but I miss Hidden Island.”

Upon hearing this admission Jon exhaled loudly deciding to share his worries. 

“I am on the edge all the time. I didn’t expect it to be easy but everyone is irritating. Only Arya and Robb, I can stand. I just spoke with a nice polite girl and I was acting like a prick toward her!” Jon explained with annoyance. “I want to go and tell Valasin to stop changing my feelings but what if…” the boy paused biting his lower lip. “What if it is not him but me all the time?”

“Then, it would mean you have changed. We all are changing, every moment. Don’t allow it to cause you grief.” 

With that, Arthur patted the horse and nodded shortly and Jon refrained from acknowledging his relief for this show of trust. He nodded back and rode outside the castle walls on his own. 

His dragon was almost two hours deep into the Wolfswood, further than Arthur had suspected. Jon’s horse was growing more agitated, the closer they were coming to the dragon, so he left it tied to a tree and the last half of an hour he walked. Valasin was nestled on a clearing, laying comfortably and watching Jon with an unmoving gaze. 

He stood in front of the beast and exhaled loudly preparing himself for another mental spar. They were sharing the silence and looking at each other for a long moment. Eventually, Jon spoke.

“I don’t like what you are doing. Could you please stop?”

The dragon sighed and sat up, tilting his enormous head in a strangely resigned manner. 

“I can say the same, human child. Your mind is pushing on my own all the time. Do you think I enjoy it?” Valasin huffed. “Every time I am dreaming of my old glorious ways, your irritating voice is scolding me and making me feel…” the creature paused.

“Stings of remorse?” Jon walked closer looking up and shaking his head. “You call it bad? What should I say about the way you make me feel?”

“Don’t blame it on me! I am trying to block your emotions too, trying to do what you are doing, but then you are trying to yank it back. It is not my fault that dragons feel things stronger.”

Jon felt his heart fall. Could it be that they were trapped in a circle? Jon was experiencing anger, the dragon was hoarding it and then, instead of calming Jon down, was only sending his way a bigger wave of emotions? 

Coming to think about it, Jon was irritated with Theon when they were breaking their fast. Could it be that somehow, instead of tempering his emotions, his irritation just grew into aggression? 

“So what? You were trying to calm me somehow? Well, it didn’t work!” 

The dragon didn’t answer, only growled lowly, and put his head back on the grass. Jon was angry at him and at the same time, he was so strangely relieved that he was back in the dragon’s presence. He walked over closer and climbed the dragon’s leg, lying down on his hot scales. Valasin gently moved his wing closer, almost completely covering Jon.

“I think I hate you a little bit,” Jon admitted in a tiny voice, feeling irritating tears pricking his eyes. “But I like you too.”

“We need each other,” the dragon whispered softly. “We are so different and yet the same. It will get better. At times, you will allow me to help you with your weaknesses and sometimes you will show me some new emotions. If I can suggest something, we perhaps should stop trying to change each other all the time? Maybe we should just let us be who we are.”

“I had no idea I am influencing you so much, I am sorry,” Jon admitted slightly ashamed. Who was the most dominant in their strange relationship? 

_No one should be_ , Jon decided. _They should be equals._

“I think we are constantly trying to overpower each other Valasin. It is strange, we do it almost unconsciously. I had promised you we would be partners.”

“Yes, you did,” the dragon admitted with slight amusement. “Try not to push your weak human mind into my intricate brain all the time, human child. In return, I will stay on my own. Allow me to just lurk there, you know you like it… Did you feel my strength?”

Jon remembered the feeling of power he experienced when he desperately wished for his bleeding hands to heal.

“I think I did…” Jon whispered and titled his head to look up at Valasin. “Can it be so easy?”

“You, stupid humans like to overcomplicate things. I think it makes your kind feel better.”

The boy only rolled his eyes at the insult. They remained in comfortable silence, not speaking but somehow sharing their feelings. Jon tried to communicate all he felt during his argument with Lord Stark and Sansa and then basked in the dragon’s outrage. 

“Do you want…” Valasin started but Jon raised his hand.

“No, what they did does not warrant them being burned!”

The dragon sighed in disappointment and Jon closed his eyes and put his cheek on the hot scales. He felt so horribly tired all of the sudden.

“I want us to go home,” he admitted petulantly. “You like it when Islanders are clapping at your air tricks and I think I am just as vain as you are, because I love their devotion towards me. Is that bad? I have never been vain before.”

The dragon laughed softly hearing his worries. 

“Vain? We are glorious, they should worship us! It is our right.”

“You are doing it again!” Jon looked up scowling at the beast. “I don’t want to be so self-centered!”

“Pick your battles,” the creature mocked. “Feel vain or feel murderous. It is your choice.”

Jon froze and laid down thinking hard. 

“There is no other way around?”

“Are you asking if you can be like you used to be? No. Neither you nor I can go back to what once was. But we will worry about that later, I guess. Sleep human child, all will be better in the morning. I can tell you are tired. ” 

* * *

Vera was waiting patiently for the child to climb down. The second the boy’s feet landed on the ground, she cleared her throat and little Bran jumped and turned quickly, looking up at her with fear. She was very much aware she looked like a character from a story you used to scare little boys. She had not slept an hour last night, since the second the guards informed her that their King rode outside Winterfell’s gates and into the Wolfswood, all by his own. Arthur, that cheeky asshole, simply informed her that the King didn’t have to confide in her all his plans.

Jon hadn’t returned yet and it was already past the morning meal. People had already asked about him and all she could do was lie that he decided to spend some time in solace because he didn’t feel well. She was praying that he didn’t do anything stupid.

“That was quite impressive,” she said coldly looking down at Bran. 

Jon’s little brother gulped visibly at her narrowed eyes. 

“Do you often climb like that?” she asked pointing to the top of the tower and the boy looked down and shook his head; little sneaky liar he was. “Do you know what can happen if your body hits the ground from such a high?” she asked and before the boy opened his mouth, she started to describe it in the most meticulous of details. 

She was almost at the end of her rant when she noticed Eddard Stark coming their way. Vera looked down at Bran one more time and smiled at him, giving him one of the scariest of her smiles. It could literally make children cry.

“Will you remember little Bran?” she asked sweetly and the boy nodded quickly, already taking a few steps back. “Run along then. And remember, if I hear that you climbed somewhere without a rope…do you remember what I will do to you?”

The boy shook more and nodded again. She indicated with her head that he was dismissed and he almost broke his legs running away.

 _Oh, I would have been such an amazing mother…_

Ned Stark paused next to her and frowned looking after his running son. 

“Why does it look like my son is scared beyond reason?”

“Because he is. On the bright side, he will not end up a cripple after falling from somewhere high.” 

“Do I want to know what you said to my son?” Ned asked coldly, with a threat clear in his voice. 

Vera turned to the wolf and raised her eyebrow at his hostile tone.

“If you want to hear the accurate description of cleaning feces from the rectal fissure of a paralyzed person…”

“Stop it!” Lord Stark raised his hand shaking his head in disbelief. “And from now on stay away from my children.”

“I meant well,” Vera murmured rolling her eyes. 

She moved toward the main keep and Lord Stark fell in steps with her. They walked in tense silence until the lord cleared his throat.

“Where is Jon?”

“Not here, as you are no doubt aware,” Vera answered as politely as possible.

It was clear that Lord Stark wanted to share something and she encouraged him raising eyebrows. 

“I received a letter from King’s Landing,” Ned eventually admitted. 

Vera stopped and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to calm her nerves. 

“Is it bad?” 

“I am not pleased with such a turn of events.”

 _Wonderful, Jon wanted an adventure and he shall have it, Others take them!_ she thought with annoyance. 

“The hand of the King and the Crown Prince will visit. They want to meet you, my Lady,” Ned continued resigned and then looked around and leaned closer to the woman. “You understand that Jon and…his knight have to hide somewhere, don’t you?”

She would have never suspected to live to see the day when she agreed with Ned Stark. But she knew Jon and Arthur. She had grown to know her boys well; especially this last year. 

“They will not move a bloody inch! Seven Hells!” she cursed realizing that the King will no doubt send some Kingsguard along.

All of them were anointed knights of the South, they would all know Arthur. 

Vera opened her mouth to suggest they present a united front but she noticed with the corner of her eyes, no one else but Arthur Dayne himself, approaching them. Jon was at his side, smiling broadly at them. He definitely looked better than last evening and Vera’s heart grew lighter. Hopefully, he had a successful talk with that bloody beast. Jon’s smile faltered, however, upon seeing their grim faces. 

“What happened?” he asked without any further ado. 

Vera and Ned glanced at each other. 

“Well,” Vera started softly, coming closer and starting to tie down a small string of leather at Jon’s shoulder, as the boy looked at her with a serious gaze. “We can expect more guests in Winterfell soon.”

Ned Stark cleared his throat. 

“Jon Arryn and Prince Joffrey will visit us,” he provided. 

Vera felt her heartbeat accelerating, as she waited for Jon’s reaction. To her utter surprise, he smiled again, even brighter than previously. 

“Wonderful news!” he declared and turned back to Arthur. “We will have to work on keeping you hidden Arthur.”

“At your command, Your Grace,” the knight only nodded. 

Well, that part went surprisingly easy, but there was another matter. 

“You too Jon,” Vera said softly. “It would be wise to…”

“Absurd!” Jon rebuffed. “No one knows who I am and it would be suspicious if I were to stay hidden. And in any way, I want to meet Jon Arryn. He raised Lord Stark, he is the acting Hand of the King, he is without doubt a wonderful diplomat,” he mused and though his tone remained soft, his eyes turned into pools of fire. “He has to be, to manage to persuade brothers to stop pursuing revenge on the person who had raped and murdered their sister. If someone would hurt Arya the way princess Elia had been hurt, I would not only kill the man; I would bring fire and blood upon his castle, upon his city, his whole family, and anyone who took a part in such a horrendous act. There would be not an ounce of mercy left in me.”

Vera’s heart stopped beating for a briefest second and Ned looked almost sick upon listening to Jon’s vengeful speech. 

“I wonder if he would have managed to swing my opinion. What do you think Lord Stark? Arthur? Any thoughts?”

“Jon…” Ned started but Jon raised his hand and closed his eyes; it was rather clear he was struggling with something. 

“No Lord Stark, I apologize. It occurred to me that my latest behavior was somehow... unnecessarily harsh," the boy said more gently and cleared his throat, but kept his gaze fixed on his uncle, while his eyes lacked the previous anger. "It is unbecoming to speak in such a manner to the Warden of the North, to the Lord of Winterfell and..." Jon continued, only briefly lowering his eyes "...a family member of mine. I don't want you to be left with the impression that you put your trust into some bratty child."

Jon’s controlled and careful apology, made all three of them raise their eyebrows. 

"Let's just remember we must keep a united front against our enemies. I am adult enough to be perfectly civil."

Ned Stark was nodding his head slowly, watching his nephew carefully.

"I am relieved, I have to admit. It's good to know you still can control yourself. Let's put the past behind us, we must focus on the future, your future," Lord Stark responded to him and he looked Jon over with a clear relief and contentment. 

Vera felt relieved as well. Nothing good would have come out from their continuing animosity.

"Yes," Jon cleared his throat and stood straight. "So, how long will it take them to come here?”

“Even if they come by ship, it's going to take a while."

“Time we're going to spend sitting around..." Jon sighed, biting on his lower lip. “Unless, I use this time to accomplish something else.” 

Vera knew Jon good enough to recognize mischief in his eyes. What had he come up with this time? 

“I think the Islanders should visit more of the Northern lands, not just Winterfell. I will check with a friend of mine if he is willing to accompany me there. If not, sadly our journey will not be possible. But I have hope; he is up to some adventure. Lord Stark, Vera…” Jon nodded to them shortly and walked away, with Arthur hot at his heels. 

Ned Stark seemed to be pleased that Jon wanted to go on some supposed trip around the North, but Vera needed to lean on the wall to stop the dizziness caused by the cold dread that spread in her chest. 

She knew what lands Jon had in mind.

The lands beyond the Wall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Jon takes a trip beyond the Wall and the Wildlings' territory holds far more surprises than anyone can suspect! 
> 
> Let me know what you think about chapter 10!  
> Do you think it's smart of Jon to be excited about the visit of his namesake and our favorite Golden Prince? Or maybe his impulsive visit at Winterfell has just ruined the carefully created plan? 😁


	11. Beyond the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon travels beyond the Wall. It turns out that the Wildlings' territory and Jon's dragon are full of surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Onar27 and Wulfkin17 for beta reading! 😊  
> Also, you can now read chapter 5 in its final version. 
> 
> This chapter will take you around 30 minutes to finish.

His bold idea of visiting the lands beyond the Wall wasn’t supported by anyone. Vera was ready to claw his eyes out, Arthur informed him that the trip would be nothing but an extravagant and unnecessary risk and Valasin told him to leave and never visit him again.

The dragon actually threatened to take Jon in his claws and fly with him to Hidden Island, because according to him, Jon had lost his mind while staying at Winterfell. Despite Vera’s and Arthur’s loud protests, they had sworn fealty to him as their king and so he was in a position to overrule them. But Valasin was his equal and without him, there was no chance he could travel beyond the Wall and make it back to Winterfell for the Crown Prince’s visit in time. 

“You will be in command,” Jon offered. “All I want to do is to scout and we will not be looking for the dead but the living. We have to take into account that…”

“Yes, I heard you! I know that those wild people will be hunted as prey and will most likely end up as slaves for the Others. But, how is it our problem?” the dragon interrupted, turning his back on him, in the petulant movement that Jon thought he was getting used to by now. 

“One day, in the not-so-distant future, we will be forced to stand against them. Would you rather fight one thousand wights or a hundred thousand?” 

Valasin stubbornly denied looking at him. 

“Please,” Jon continued in his most placating voice. “If you sense something dangerous there, we shall fly as fast as your mighty wings will allow us!”

Jon tried to probe their bond and was surprised upon sensing… shame and insecurity. He sighed heavily and circled the dragon standing in front of his snout. 

“We will not take any unnecessary risk, you will be safe.”

The mighty creature moved a bit closer and huffed hot air at Jon’s face with annoyance. 

“You cannot promise me that. And… it is not me I am worried about. The last time I flew there with my mother she ended up dead and I was hopeless to help her in any way. Once upon a time, I was brazen and reckless too, just like you are right now… But I am wiser and more wary now and if I have to, I will use my tail to beat some sense into you.”

“It would be the last beating in my life without any doubt,” Jon japed with a snort. “Come and see,” he offered, hitting his chest a couple of times. “Come and find out if this is some recklessness or need of adventures.”

He waited for the dragon to check his emotions. He was calm knowing what Valasin will find; nothing beyond determination and worry. Fear even.

“The wildlings must be getting agitated, since they’ve started raiding lands further from the Wall. That happens now for a reason. I think our enemy is on the move. We have to be smart and assure that the dead will not grow in numbers. We need to check on the Wildlings and do everything in our power to extract as many of them to safety as possible. If we don’t do it then…”

“…we shall be forced to fight against them later,” the dragon finished, resigned, and a few moments later Valasin stretched to his full height and looked down at Jon. “If, and it is just a possibility, I agree to this, there would be rules and conditions you shall have to follow. Whatever happens, you must remain unharmed.”

Jon was a bit taken aback by the earnestness and genuine concern in the dragon’s voice. 

“If these wild people prove themselves a threat to you, I will end them. If I even suspect something wrong, you will hide between my spikes without hesitation and won’t dare to bark orders at me, do you understand?”

Jon had been nodding his head eagerly, even before the dragon had finished. 

“We will remain in the air all the time…”

“We cannot do that!” Jon raised his hand and interrupted the beast for the first time. “I have to speak with the Wildlings! I will have to land at some point!”

Valasin growled as quietly as a creature of his size possibly could and eventually sighed heavily and lowered his head. 

“I can’t believe I am proposing this…” the dragon grunted and one green eye turned back to Jon. “Take that annoying bug that carries the steel stick and likes to follow you around with you. At least, you can use him as a shield against enemies. That is until I burn them all into nothing.”

“You surprise me, my friend…” Jon murmured trying to stop himself from snickering at the dragon’s description of his Kingsguard and the fact that Valasin’s regard of the greatest swordsman in the realm was that of a human shield. “I bet Arthur is going to be ecstatic.”

* * *

They were a day away from Winterfell when Valasin landed heavily in the middle of their camp. The group of Islanders that accompanied them was ordered to seek shelter in the woods and wait for them there and they did so, without complaint. Jon’s estimations suggested that their trip would take a little over a week, including a few night rests. They had agreed to spend no more than two days beyond the Wall, since the dragon had maintained that their stay beyond the Wall had to be limited, explaining it with some sort of old pact, that while it did not limit him, he wasn’t particularly interested in challenging for long. 

That was also the reason they weren’t going to fly straight over Castle Black and cross the Wall there. Instead, after he had ransacked Winterfell’s library for maps of the regions beyond the Wall, he and the dragon had agreed they’d fly over Last Hearth and the lands that belonged to the Umbers, reach the Bay of Seals and then Eastwatch, where the Wall stopped upon meeting the Shivering Sea and from there fly to the Haunted Forest and the wildlings’ territory. 

“I can’t be sure if I can breach through the magic surrounding the Wall, without Mother. She used to say there is no point in tempting fate. That’s why dragons that have crossed over to these accursed lands always did so from the sea.”

Jon had wondered just how many dragons had done so, upon hearing that, since when they first met Valasin had implied that it was because he and his mother were special that they had managed to do so. Most importantly, Jon still couldn’t understand why they had done so in the first place. But Valasin got cagey every time Jon tried to get him to speak about it and he didn’t want to incur any hurtful memories on his dragon and so he had stopped asking. 

Jon attached the bags with food and supplies to one of Valasin’s biggest spikes, the action itself making the creature complain. 

“You are not some mule!” Jon grumbled when the dragon started to protest that the bags were limiting his movements. “And we both know it’s so light you can’t even feel it.” 

“If my mother could see me, she would be disgusted. What’s next? Will you try and put some bloody saddle on me?!”

“Stop acting like a whining child,” Jon chuckled, patting the dragon’s scales. “You are a warrior and a warrior should be ready to suffer some inconvenience.” 

“You are my biggest inconvenience!” Valasin growled and then rolled his eyes at him; an action that the beast had picked up from Jon and that looked particularly disturbing on such a creature. 

Jon turned back to the guards and smiled at his Kingsguard. 

“Arthur, I didn’t say it before, because I wanted Valasin to be present. You see…” he beamed and spread his arms. “You are free to join us! What would you say about a flight?”

He expected the knight to be glad that he could guard him during his dangerous escapades beyond the Wall, as Arthur had repeatedly called the trip, but to his surprise the knight paled horribly. 

“Do I have to?” the man said tersely, shaking his head slowly. 

The dragon growled softly moving his enormous head closer to the Kingsguard. 

“Did this bug just deny the greatest honor of his life?!”

“Oh come on, Arthur!” Jon laughed, placing a hand on the dragon’s snout and trying to move his massive head away from the man; growling was definitely not the way to convince him. 

“I fear I will be an inconvenience to you in the air, Your Grace!” Arthur murmured, watching the dragon with distrust. “And I think we both know he is going to throw me off!”

“I changed my mind!” Valasin declared under his breath, clearly offended. “He can run after us on his stupid horse! I have never been disrespected like that!”

Jon rubbed his forehead tiredly, trying to find some way to compromise between the two of them. 

“I think I know how to make sure you won’t fall…just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Arthur gave him a forced smile and eyed the dragon one more time. 

“I am so grateful, your Grace.”

* * *

“Why are you doing this?” Arthur yelled, as loud as his damaged vocal cords allowed him. Jon couldn’t stop a laugh from escaping him, upon hearing the mightiest knight in the Seven Kingdoms scream like a maiden. “Why? Tell him to fly slower, please!”

The beast started to laugh as well. 

“He is funny, this one!”

“I told you so!” Jon chuckled trying to shout over Arthur’s loud complaints; the man was clearly terrified, closed in the cage made of Valasin’s spikes. 

“We can keep him,” the dragon decided. “But if he pisses or shits on me I am going to eat him on the spot!” 

A journey that should have been long was shortened to only one day on the back of a dragon and that was even with them circling around Eastwatch by the Sea in order not to be spotted by whatever Night’s Watch men were on duty there. True, Valasin was flying as fast as possible, the freezing air almost throwing Jon from his back and definitely making him glad he had wrapped himself in furs that covered most of his face. It was clear that the beast wanted to have the whole trip behind them as soon as possible. 

By the time they noticed the great iced Wall in the distance Jon was half frozen and tired beyond reason, from holding tightly onto the dragon’s spikes. Still, he couldn’t help but admire the great wonder that the Wall was, even at a distance. Jon had heard that it reached seven hundred feet at its highest point, but he hadn’t comprehended just what that meant and just how vast it was. It shone blue and crystalline in the sunlight, almost like it sparkled and Jon wondered how such an enormous construct had ever been created. Old Nan used to tell them that Brandon the Builder had the assistance of the children of the forest and giants and that it was protected with ancient spells and sorcery. Jon had seen and experienced enough since meeting his dragon that he wasn’t as dismissive of these tales as he had been as a child. 

But before he could ask Valasin what he thought of the Wall, they were finally flying over the Haunted Forest. The vast forest beyond the Wall was where the Wildlings were residing and was bonded to the west by the Frostfangs and to the east by the Shivering Sea, which they had flown over. Jon knew that north of the Haunted Forest laid the Lands of Always Winter, the northernmost part of Westeros that was mostly unexplored. The region it was believed the Others came from... 

“Can you feel it?” the dragon asked him quietly over the silence that had reigned over them, ever since they left the Wall behind. 

He could; whatever it was it was chilling Jon’s bones more than the cold air and it felt very different to the feeling of wonder and awe the Wall had given him. 

“What you feel is their magic. Evil and cold.”

“Would you be able to tell if the Others were close?” Jon asked, trying to fight down his fear. 

“Maybe… Listen carefully. We are going to find these wild people and we are going back, human child. We should not risk ourselves needlessly.” 

“Let’s fly closer to the sea, see if we can find any settlements close to the coastline. Otherwise we’ll have to turn around and fly towards the Fist of the First Men, since you don’t want to land among the trees.” 

The dragon titled his body turning east and Arthur screamed weakly. 

* * *

They had been travelling for many hours and at some point Jon had almost fallen asleep and yet the dragon steadfastly refused to land among the trees of the Haunted Forest or even closer to the shore. 

“Bind yourself with a rope and throw away this useless human and hide between my spikes. We are not landing!” Valasin argued and Jon exhaled in frustration, but obeyed; after all, he had promised to listen to his command. 

Even after tying himself with a rope, however, he was too scared to fall asleep on the air and so he had spent the majority of the night trying to keep his eyes open; it was only the icy cold of the starry night that kept him awake. For the first time, during the many hours they had been flying, he was jealous of Arthur, who could sleep securely enclosed in the dragon’s spikes. 

When they finally stumbled upon something, the hour of the nightingale must have come and gone and the sun’s upper limb had breached the horizon. Jon was barely conscious, but when he realized exactly where they were, he felt himself regaining some of his strength. 

Hardhome. 

An old Wildling settlement located at the tip of the peninsula of what was called Storrold's Point on the Shivering Sea, according to his maps. A natural harbor that was surrounded by caves, cliffs and a very ominous history. After all there was a reason the Night’s Watch called the caves surrounding the place ‘the screaming caves’. 

“My ancestor flew here once,” Valasin told him as they approached the supposedly cursed place. 

“What do you mean?” Jon asked shocked. 

“He had to… he couldn’t allow the Others such easy prey.”

Jon had read, during his hasty brushing up on history of the Lands beyond the Wall that Hardhome had been completely destroyed six centuries ago and while details were uncertain, the flames were said to have risen so high that the Night’s Watch thought that the sun was rising up from the north. According to the tales, ashes had rained down on the Haunted Forest and the Shivering Sea for half a year. Could it be that a dragon, Valasin’s ancestor apparently, had deliberately destroyed the growing community of the Wildlings settled there to weaken the Great Other’s army? 

“Why did he do it?” Jon asked but Valasin was quiet. “Please, don’t keep me in the dark! We are partners, remember?”

The dragon finally sighed.

“There is an ancient power living here, beyond the Wall, one that tries to shield the living. Old Children that are bound with nature and the elements. When Valyria started to grow and it’s disgusting inhabitants started enslaving my ancestors and binding them with their vile magics, those strange children were singing so loud that some of my kin followed their song. Sometimes, they called upon us. We were able to hear their song even on Hidden Island. My mother heard them too and one day she ordered us to fly and come see the Others for ourselves. I personally have never heard their song. Maybe they no longer sing as loud as they used to.”

“Or maybe they have finished their song?” Jon suggested burrowing more deeply into the dragon's hot scales. Valasin only growled softly in answer. 

They were now flying directly above Hardhome and as Jon looked down, he noticed that the peninsula was not as abandoned as the tales about it claimed it was. In fact the people he could see moving beneath them were far more than Jon could have suspected. 

“Are we burning them too?” the dragon asked, with a slight hope in his tone and Jon rolled his eyes.

“We came to help them, not kill them, remember?” he reminded softly.

“Fine,” Valasin grumbled clearly disappointed and as Jon opened his mouth to chastise the dragon for his childish behavior, he suddenly froze, his mouth hanging open. 

“Do you see this?” Jon squinted struggling to understand what he just saw. “Is that a giant?” 

“What?” he heard from behind him and turned to Arthur, who Jon had thought to be still be asleep, enclosed as he was in the dragon’s spikes. The lucky sod; though the knight had no way to see what was beneath them and their whole trip must have been pretty dull for him... well, if you left out Valasin’s acrobatics, when they had first taken off.

“There are giants Arthur!”

“Don’t land!” the knight said with authority but Jon only laughed, feeling a child-like excitement growing inside him. 

“Valasin!” Jon smiled. “They are living, so I suggest we should land. And if they attack… just burn some of them in warning!” 

The dragon growled in excitement. They started to dive slowly, taking lazy circles and Jon noticed people raising their heads, finally aware of them. Some were running but most of them were just watching them calmly. _Well, that was strange_. Jon didn’t expect such an approach. When they landed, the dragon roared at them in warning and outstretched his massive wings, presenting himself in all his horrific glory. Some men had their bows raised but many just stood there shocked in fear. 

“We come in peace!” Jon shouted as loud as possible. “Lower your weapons or face dragonfire.” 

To his relief, most of the people complied. 

The beast sighed in disappointment and opened his spikes allowing Arthur to move. Jon was impressed that the knight was able to stand and was only slightly shaking. Jon dismounted his dragon and stood up next to him; his own limbs were stiff and aching from holding on to the beast’s muscled back for over a day, but he didn’t allow any of his discomfort to show on his face or his posture. 

“I told you!” a raspy voice was suddenly heard from the gathered crowd and Jon narrowed his eyes upon seeing someone approaching them. 

A tiny, completely grayed woman was walking slowly to him, leaning over a long twisted wooden white stick; made from Weirwood, Jon realized upon inspecting it. The wildling woman looked like she was at least a hundred years old. The old crone’s hair was decorated with twigs and her clothing…needless to say, Jon had never seen such a mess. Jon was surprised seeing how bravely or even recklessly she was walking to the dragon like he was nothing but a domesticated animal. Valasin clearly didn’t like such disrespect either, because he growled so loud that even Jon grimaced. The old woman froze mid-step. 

“I suggest you stay there, my lady!” Jon yelled. “My dragon is quite shy!” 

The old woman tilted her head and clapped her hands, before turning to face her people. 

“We have been telling you! We, all the witches of your tribes. Those who listened will be saved! Go and tell the others!” the crone yelled. 

Jon moved discretely towards Arthur. 

“Do you know what the heck is going on?” he murmured.

“No idea. We could use Vera now. She is an expert in such mad events.” 

“Human child,” the dragon whispered turning to him, so that the three of them were leaning closer to each other, almost like they were sharing a secret. “Just in case, I don’t want to eat her. She smells funny…” 

_Everything seemed to be funny_ , Jon thought confused. _What was she talking about? Was she some kind of a witch?_ Taking a deep breath, Jon straightened his back and nodded to himself. 

“I am going to them.”

“Your Grace, don’t!”

He patted Arthur on the arm. 

“Don’t worry about me. She is an old lady, probably a bit crazy in her head… Valasin, if any of them threatens me, you are going to rain fire on them.”

“How would I know they are attacking you? I am not an expert in human etiquette,” the dragon pointed out. 

“Fair point. Let’s say that Arthur will smack your wing.”

Both the dragon and the knight looked at each other upon hearing his suggestion; he fervently hoped that Valasin would not opt to eat Arthur instead. Jon took a deep breath and walked over to the small old woman. She was smiling at him, showing a toothless grin. 

“I am a bit confused, my lady,” he said softly when the woman reached for him and took hold of his hands. ”You seem to have been expecting my arrival.” 

“I was. All call me Mother Mole, child,” she introduced herself and she reached for his face and patted his cheek, upon which his dragon growled in a warning. 

“Not yet!” Jon heard Arthur scream. 

“We, the Witches of the Free Folk have been seeing your arrival in visions. You will send boats, right?” the woman frowned.

Jon was dumbfounded. 

“Well, I guess it could be arranged,” he said slowly not wanting to promise anything, as he began wondering what kind of madness he had stumbled upon, again. 

“Good!” the woman exclaimed, raising her hands high and turning to her people. “We are saved!”

“Great,” Jon mumbled, while closing his eyes. “More fanatics…”

* * *

The Islanders used to watch him with an almost sick devotion. After Mother Mole’s declaration, he was half expecting a similar approach from the Wildlings, but while he was walking through the camp, Arthur at his side and Mother Mole ahead of them, all the ragged and fur cladded people watched him with disbelief and suspicion; a lot of suspicion. He was half expecting to be greeted with respect, similar to that of the Islanders. He couldn’t be further from the truth.

He gripped the pommel of his sword harder and looked around. He decided that smiling at those men wasn’t the best approach, so he opted for looking at them coldly. Mother Mole informed him that some clan leaders were waiting for them at the main structure and that they would gladly speak with him.

Yet, when he entered what appeared to be a barn-like construction, the gathering of people was glaring at him and no one bothered to stand up. Jon had to recall all his lessons with Vera in his mind, in order to keep himself from grimacing upon seeing a man wearing what appeared to be a yellowed skull as a mask, and rattling armor made of bones and bearclaws sewn to the arms of his boiled leathers. Another man glared at him; he had ugly scars over his face and surprisingly had no ears attached to his bald face. It would appear that the people living beyond the Wall were tough and dangerous. And not very hospitable as it turned out. 

He paused at the entrance looking around. Deep silence and dozens of distrustful glares greeted him. He found himself feeling rather awkward but Arthur, bless his soul, took a step forward. 

“You are in the presence of Jon of House Targaryen, First of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Protector of the Realm, the Dragon Rider, the Lightbringer.”

Jon made a note to himself to pat Arthur on the back later in appreciation. They hadn’t practiced any kind of introduction beforehand. Still, if Arthur’s introduction was meant to work as a means to intimidate these threatening people, it only backfired. They all burst into laughter. Mother Mole was standing next to Jon, her hands on her hips, and was watching the so-called clan leaders with a scowl. One of the men, a giant redheaded brute of a man snorted. 

“Are we supposed to bow to his majesty? Perhaps suck his cock too?” 

Jon sighed. He knew people like that; harsh, strong, and proud, not wanting to give an inch. He would have to fight for their respect or just put the fear in them. Honestly, he was so bloody tired at this point, and he had no desire to waste his time. He reached for the connection he had with Valasin and asked the dragon to fly closer. A few seconds later screams outside erupted and a menacing roar followed, the ground shaking, as the great dragon landed somewhere close. 

“Forgive my dragon,” Jon said coldly walking closer to the fire and casually sitting down, noticing with satisfaction that no one was laughing anymore; everyone was staring at the ceiling. “I am far better at ignoring mockery although, he is…” Jon also looked up and smirked “… a very sensitive creature. Disrespecting me means disrespecting him as we are one.” 

He made a pause to look at everyone and grace them with a fake smile. 

“That’s fine Valasin, you can fly away. There is no need to burn them…for now at least,” he called out then and the structure shook terribly, when Valasin took off in the air outside

Jon furrowed his brow and leaned closer to the flames slowly tracing the fire with his fingers. The people around him had turned their attention back to him, most of them still glaring, but could tell they were much more wary now. He smiled once more and then casually plunged both of his hands, eliciting a few gasps and making Arthur take a step forward. He lifted his eyes from the flames to look at the redheaded man that had spoken before and raised an eyebrow, as the bearded man and those around him gawked at him in awe and fear. 

“I have been greeted very warmly by Mother Mole. It gave me the impression that you too had been expecting my arrival. I came to aid you in the fight against the Others, although if..." he trailed off and took his hand from the fire and theatrically raised it for everyone to see “…I am not welcomed here, I will not impose further. Me, my army, our weapons will kill the dead. My magic and my dragon will kill the White Walkers,” Jon announced and stood up, nodding shortly at Arthur and the knight moved to the door silently. 

He had taken two steps away when a woman, dark-haired with pretty plump lips, stood up.

“Wait!” she said, seemingly ignoring the grumbling of the man with the bone armor. “Let’s talk!” 

Jon turned around and raised his eyebrows. A few men around the fire nodded hesitantly, agreeing with the woman’s invitation. 

“Fine,” Jon sighed in a tone that clearly indicated that the whole situation was boring him to no end. “Let’s talk then.” 

* * *

“How many of you are currently at Hardhome?” Jon asked, his gaze dancing from Mother Mole to the woman named Karsi. 

So far, those two seemed to be the most willing to talk to him and negotiate with him. 

“Two thousand… and three giants,” Karsi said and she glanced at Mother Mole fleetingly. “Mostly women and children. We came here in order to get them somewhere safe. But the greatest part of us is gathering around Mance. So, if you hope to get yourself warriors, you will be disappointed. Although,” she raised her head proudly “our spearwives can fight well. I could beat you with ease.”

Jon decided that this fierce woman probably could. The man with the bones hissed in warning and Karsi glared back at him. 

“And I,” the redheaded man, who had introduced himself as Tormund, started, “I should go to Mance. We are going to breach the Wall and fight for ourselves. We shouldn’t run away.”

“Are you going to fucking tell everything to this Southern boy?” the Bone Man, as Jon had started calling him in his mind, yelled.

“Oh shut up!” Karsi rolled her eyes. “You almost shat yourself when Mother Mole started to have visions of the future. And look, she was right! He really did fly here!”

The redhead, Tormund rubbed his beard and narrowed his eyes at Jon.

“I admit, I was curious. Who wouldn’t want to see a great fire-breathing beast? What kind of man goes flying on a monster as such?” he wondered and then laughed. “Probably a mad one, huh, lad? All of you wargs are a bit mad.” 

“Wargs?” Jon asked in confusion, the word was one he recognized, but couldn’t recall from where, with all his tiredness making his mind sluggish. “What’s that?”

“It’s what you are, innit?” the man threw back at him and Jon frowned, casting an uncertain glance at Arthur, as the bone man spat on the ground in disgust. 

“In my vision, I saw boats too…” the crone interrupted harshly, as Jon went to open his mouth again. “Will you send boats?” she questioned with urgency. 

Jon looked at the gathering of these people and bit his lip in thought. 

Boats… for two thousand men and three bloody giants. _And where were those boats supposed to take them to? Hidden Island was his only option for now_ , he realized. Jon rubbed his forehead trying to consider all the angles of this idea. Vera would probably want to claim his firstborn or something like that, after an idea as such. 

“Your Grace?” Arthur said gently and Jon waved him closer and the knight leaned over to his ear. “The northern part of Hidden Island had been completely secluded, because of the dragon. But since you made him move, they have found silver mines there; mines that need people to work them and people to be settled close to them to provide for the miners. Perhaps we could manage. The food supplies worry me a bit, since I don’t know the state of it. And Vera. Mostly Vera.”

 _Me too_ , Jon thought bitterly. 

“Our storages are full, ready to take us through a winter lasting five years. Food supplies aren’t a problem.” 

But Vera…to welcome so many people to Hidden Island, especially people so different from the so civilized and clean Islanders. Wildlings were, well, wild. By the Gods, the Islanders can see him as their king but it was still their island and he didn’t want to take advantage of their loyalty. 

“How many ships do we have and how long will it take them to travel to Hardhome?” 

“Fifty full-sized ships, around two hundred smaller boats. Big ships don’t fare well around Hidden Island…I guess from the moment they receive your order, they will need around two, maybe three moons to prepare, sail and moor at Hardhome,” Arthur explained. 

Jon rubbed his chin thinking hard. Some kind of bloody magic had told these men to seek shelter here, to wait for him. He was past refusing that magic didn’t exist. It was a force that had to be respected.

“One big ship can contain around three hundred men in order for them to travel comfortably…” he said slowly and louder for people to hear. “You are not going to travel comfortably though, I cannot risk so many of my ships. I will send five here and it would be up to you how you are going to fit. First, children and women are going to be granted entrance. You will move to Hidden Island, the place where my subjects live.”

“Your what?” Tormund asked, grimacing.

“My people…” Jon explained softly. 

“People who follow his Grace,” Arthur added. “And respect his authority,” he continued coldly. 

The wildings looked at each other uncomfortably. Most of them seemed to look resigned but a few were growing furious. 

“We are no kneelers!” the Bone Man exploded standing up. “We will not bow to a fucking green boy!”

He was yelling so loudly that Jon actually felt drops of his saliva landing on his face. It was really disgusting. Jon remained seated waiting for the tantrum to end. Arthur put his hand on the pommel of his sword though. 

“You can put those fucking ships up your southern ass! My people would rather join Mance. And then…” the bone man leaned closer to Jon. “…we will raid your lands.” 

“And kill me perhaps?” the young king suggested in apparent amusement that seemed to anger the man more. “I would rather bet on you getting stopped somewhere close to the Wall and dying off there. Perhaps…” Jon smiled gently. “I will personally help the Southerners to rain fire on you from above. I will surely look out for your bones, smelly face.” 

The wildling with the rattling armor growled in answer and went to unsheathe his sword, but before he had fully succeeded, Arthur had the tip of his sword at the man’s neck. 

“Please, raise it…” the knight taunted. “I am dreaming of carving through all of you.”

“And I assure you he could do so with ease,” Jon added coldly. 

The other wildlings were observing the disturbance silently, until Jon stood up and turned to address Mother Mole. 

“As I meant to say, before I was so rudely interrupted, I won’t demand you bow to me or call me your king. Respect should be earned, I understand that. But I will not tolerate ungratefulness, especially if by helping you I am to inconvenience my people, people loyal to me, and those I am bound to protect. You want a free passage to safety, away from the White Walkers? Compromise, then. I will not let anyone who would cause trouble and not respect our laws to move to Hidden Island. You have a day to consider my proposal. Those who rather stay at this cold shithole, are welcome to do so. We will speak again tomorrow.” 

At the end of his speech, Jon looked straight at Karsi. As he mentioned, she seemed to be the smartest and most level-headed among these people. 

“I trust that when the day comes I will be given a chance to save many of you. If not…” he continued viciously and looked at others with anger “… then we will surely meet again, but this time you will be nothing but mindless blue-eyed beasts that I will personally send to the Seven Hells.” 

He motioned to Arthur and turned to the exit. Mayhaps he could have done more to convince them, but he simply had no time or will to speak with those stubborn disrespectful fools. 

His knight waited for his king to leave the building and only then did he turn his back at the wilding clan leaders. 

The dragon was circling the camp lazily, but when he noticed Jon walking away he dived and landed heavily in the middle of the camp, roaring threateningly and sending the people around them scrambling off. Jon put on his gloves and waited for Arthur to climb Valasin, before he took his place on the dragon’s neck. He looked down and noticed the clan leaders standing at the entrance to the tent, watching him with grim expressions. Only Mother Mole was smiling widely, showing her toothless grin. 

* * *

They camped a few miles from Hardhome, closer to the shore. Jon was currently lying comfortably on the dragon’s leg and Arthur was trying to warm himself next to the fire. Despite his pleas, Valasin didn’t allow Arthur to find shelter on his back. 

“Nice touch with the whole introduction,” Jon called to the knight and Arthur snickered. 

“They weren’t impressed though.”

“Maybe Jon Targaryen doesn’t sound royal enough?” the boy suggested with a smirk. 

He had thought about it many times. He liked his name, he would always be Jon to those closest to him. But at times he was tempted to name himself, just like he had named Valasin. 

Arthur rolled at his back and looked at the stars and the colorful smudges covering the sky. 

“What name would you choose if you could, Your Grace?”

Jon rubbed his chin in thought.

“I always liked Daeron the Young Dragon,” Jon admitted softly. “But what kind of a man names himself?” he asked, rolling his eyes.

“One who hasn’t been named properly,” Arthur simply stated and Jon turned to him fully.

“Had my parents ever discussed names for me?” Jon questioned in a smaller voice than he had intended. 

“You were to be a girl, Visenya, according to Rhaegar. Although, Lady Lyanna insisted that you would be a boy. Strong kicks were her indication…she never shared her ideas with me though. At the end she had grown rather melancholic.”

Jon propped his head on his arm and sighed heavily. According to Lord Stark, she had never named him; all she had been saying on her death bed was a whispered begging to keep him safe. And so his uncle chose to name him in honor of Jon Arryn, the man who helped destroy House Targaryen; it was a Northern name too, he knew. It just didn’t seem right and Arthur had a point. He had a right to name himself. He was a completely different man now.

“Dearon the Third of His name,” he murmured rolling on his back and smiling. “Do you like it Valasin?” he asked but was only rewarded with a loud snore. 

* * *

The attitude of the Wildings didn’t change. They were still glaring at him and the camp was a big scene of activity. _Some of them had decided to leave,_ he realized.

Mother Mole waited for him next to the wooden building and silently guided him inside. Around the fire the same people were seated, except for Bone Man and the bald man with no ears. 

Tormund and Karsi stood up and nodded at him shortly and Jon lowered his head as well.

“Did you consider my offer?” 

The woman took a step closer to him and outstretched her hand. 

“We will sail. Many decided to follow your rules. But…” she continued glancing at Tormund “… we are no kneelers. We will always remain the Free Folk.”

“I came here because I wanted to assure your safety. It was my sole goal upon travelling beyond the Wall. I will not demand you to call me a king but while at Hidden Island you have to follow the established rules. To survive, you must compromise.”

“What does that exactly mean?” the redhead asked in a gruff voice and Jon answered with a smile.

“I will leave the job of explaining to someone more versed in teaching than me,” he replied, thinking about Vera. “I will be honored, being your friend for now. Maybe one day you will choose me as your king on your own.”

“Friend of Free Folk and Giants,” Ser Arthur sighed next to him and everyone looked at the knight, making the man shrug. “I guess I have to add it to the list of your titles.”

Jon rolled his eyes hearing his slight mockery. 

“I would never have believed I would trust a man who wears black!” Karsi snarled, nodding toward Jon’s robes. “It reminds me of the Crows.”

“You will have to get used to it, it is my favorite color!” Jon japed but almost took a step back when at his joke, the woman narrowed her eyes. 

_By the Gods, she was almost as scary as Vera could be when angered; almost._

“Before you go, come here child, I have something for you…” Mother Mole insisted and basically pushed Karsi out of the way and took hold of Jon’s elbow almost painfully. 

_Are all women here so bloody strong?_ Jon wondered. _She must be older than Old Nan!_

“Now, since you agreed to help us, you can have it.” 

Jon smiled politely and allowed the crone to escort him outside. Valasin had been right, he decided, she smelled funny. Not unpleasant exactly but more…earthy. What did she have for him? A shell necklace or a wildling wife? 

They were walking through the tents for some time, the old crone never once letting go of his arm, until they reached something that looked like a hut, located between a few lonely withered trees. Mother Mole passed it and stopped next to the manure heap. An animal, looking very much like a stag, though Jon was certain it was not one, looked at them and continued to chew it’s hay slowly. The witch silently handed Jon a primitive shovel and pointed at the pile of shit. 

Jon gave her an uncomfortable smile and glanced at Arthur who was watching the scene with raised eyebrows.

“I am a bit confused,” Jon started but the old woman only smacked his arm.

“Dig!” she ordered. “There’s a reward waiting for you!”

The young king looked at Arthur again and could swear that the knight was fighting down a smile. He opened his mouth again and seeing his hesitation Mother Mole rolled her eyes.

“I was a pretty young lass, when a man came over to my home. He was a Crow but a different kind of Crow altogether; a disturbing man he was, oh yes. He said that one day a black warrior will fly here and asked me if I could take something for safekeeping.”

“What exactly?” 

To Jon’s surprise, it was Arthur who had asked the question, perking up suddenly. 

“One of your fancy, southern swords. I don’t know how useful it could possibly be, with a blade so thin…”

“Dig! Your Grace, we have to dig!” Arthur interrupted and all but yanked the shovel from Jon’s hand. 

“Arthur? What is going on?” Jon asked in confusion. 

“I can’t believe it,” his knight was murmuring under his nose. “If this is what I think…laying under a pile of shit!”

Jon observed the knight in bafflement, trying to work out what had him so excited. He turned to the old crone, once more. 

“What did this man look like?” he asked carefully, watching Arthur digging into the manure heap, trying to reach the ground below. 

“Ugly!” Mother Mole chuckled. “With one ugly red eye.”

Jon’s eyebrows rose at that, trying to work out the identity of that man. Once again it was Old Nan’s stories he was reminded of and Bran getting all excited about another scary story about the man with a thousand eyes and one. It was impossible…and yet his life was full of impossibilities at this point. 

“Oh Gods,” Jon rasped. “Do you have another shovel, Mother Mole?” Jon asked, unable to hide the excitement from his tone. “It will be faster with both of us digging.”

The ground was hard and frozen, unwavering under their efforts. They were making progress though, slowly but persistently. Jon felt streams of sweat running down his back and forehead. They were dirty and smelled like shit but knowing what they could find buried there, made their struggle worth the inconvenience. More and more people were coming over to watch their toil and a small part of Jon was slightly annoyed that no one had offered any help. The wildings seemed to enjoy watching the Southern King digging into their animals’ excrement. 

But Jon didn’t care, especially when at one point his shovel stopped at wood, and the hollow sound resonated. He looked at Arthur and smiled broadly with excitement, and the knight fell down on his knees and started to remove the soil with his hands.

The Kingsguard’s hands were shaking when he pulled a thin wooden chest from the ground and handed it over to Jon. The young man didn’t wait a moment, just quickly pried open the lid and looked inside. 

It was there. 

The slim blade with a fire like pommel and a single ruby in the middle. It was there before him, almost singing to him and despite being hidden for so long it still seemed to be sharp and shiny. He took it off the chest with shaking hands and presented it to Arthur.

“Dark Sister,” the knight whispered and Jon realized that the man’s eyes were filled with tears. “And it has been lying under a pile of shit for over fifty years!” 

Arthur started to laugh suddenly and Jon joined him, crushed under the absurdity of the whole situation. He yelled in triumph, raising the sword high in the air and Arthur embraced him strongly, from the middle, and raised him up. They were literally sobbing with happiness. 

Tormund raised his eyebrows and looked at Karsi, who was watching the scene with shock.

“They are fucking mad, those Southerners, that’s what they are.”

“Aye,” the stoic woman agreed slowly. “Fucking mad.”

* * *

“In three moons you can expect to see boats on the horizon. If my responsibilities allow me to, I will personally greet you and escort you with my dragon to the safety of Hidden Island. I am sure your children and you will find great joy there.”

“You Southerners like flowery words, pretty boy. Just don’t fuck us over,” Karsi murmured and shook his hand again. 

Jon smiled and looked down, at the three small children standing next to the spearwife. He winked at the kids and they smiled back at him. 

“Can we pet the dragon?” one of the boys asked suddenly and Jon paused.

“No lad, I am sorry but no.”

“My name is Ube, not lad. And why not?” the child questioned boldly and Jon blinked.

“Well,” he said slowly. “He doesn’t like children. Maybe when you grow up.”

The boy turned to his mother sharply. 

“When will I grow up?” 

Karsi glared at him, in a way that clearly signaled he caused her trouble, so Jon waved his hand in goodbye and moved toward his dragon leaving the wildling woman behind as quickly as possible. 

Arthur decided he’d rather sit with him on the dragon’s back than inside the cage made of the spikes, so Jon made sure the knight’s legs were hooked between the spikes and asked Valasin to take off. The air that the dragon’s wings raised almost made a few wildlings collapse.

No, not Wildlings. From now on they were the Free Folk, his friends.

On their way towards Eastwatch-by-the-Sea they stumbled upon something that made Jon’s heart stop. From up high, they spotted a small group of people, no more than a dozen, walking slowly. There was something unnatural in their movement, however, in their staggering walk. 

“They are dead,” Valasin informed and Jon turned around looking down with shock. “They follow the call, they are walking to the Lands of Always Winter.”

“What’s there?”

“More of them, I assume. They have been called, so they march to join the army,” the dragon explained simply. 

“We cannot allow it,” Jon murmured. “You know that, don’t you? Would it be safe or…”

“Yes,” Valasin said calmly. “They are a different kind of beasts than those that attacked my mother and me. I will gladly show them what is waiting for all of them!”

“Arthur, hold tight,” Jon screamed toward the knight and the man instantly took hold of Jon’s middle.

“What’s going on?”

“We are going to burn some dead men.”

Arthur was unable to ask any question, because the dragon dived in and breathed fire upon the group of rotting corpses. They were eradicated instantly, turning into nothing but ashes. What Jon didn’t account for, was the knight’s terror. The man screamed and jumped on the dragon’s back and Jon took hold of his arm at the last moment.

“Arthur, what the…” Jon growled, scared that they had just almost lost him in such a stupid way.

“My balls!” the knight growled. “They are on fire for fuck’s sake!”

Jon groaned and glared at Arthur. 

“They are not, it is just the feeling! You are fine,” he assured and seeing the pure terror on the man’s face, Jon couldn’t stop the snort. “He was worried we set his balls on fire!” Jon laughed towards the dragon and the beast chuckled. 

For the briefest moments, Jon was sure that Arthur mumbled under his tone something that sounded suspiciously like ‘shut up’. 

They stopped a few miles from Eastwatch, already in the safety of the southern land, and during their simple camp, they discussed their next move. Arthur insisted they should fly back to their people, while Jon was trying to press the idea of visiting Castle Black.

“Our trip was very quick,” Jon argued. “We have so much time to spare. Also, I don’t know when the next opportunity to see Uncle Benjen will come up.” 

“How are you going to explain your presence at the Wall, Your Grace?” Arthur asked with one eyebrow raised skeptically. “No one can travel so fast…”

“Let’s hope that Uncle Benjen and…Uncle Ned won’t compare their timelines,” Jon retorted with a shrug. “I can’t let this opportunity pass. We don’t even know in what state the Night’s Watch is. They will be the first line of defense if and when the White Walkers attack. And this Mance Rayder… You heard the Free Folk. The last thing we need during the war for the throne is to have the North invaded by an army of Wildlings. They have to be warned.” 

At that argument, Arthur had no answer. 

“Sleep, don’t worry about guarding me,” Jon smiled and allowed Valasin to cover him with a wing. “Tomorrow we move towards Castle Black.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Jon visits Castle Black and reunites with his family. 
> 
> Thank you for your ongoing support! What do you think about chapter 11?


	12. Castle Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon visits Castle Black and makes some heartbreaking assumptions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Onar27 and Wulfkin17 for beta reading! ❤

“Lord Stark actually wanted me to swear my life away in this place?” Jon asked aghast, looking around. 

Castle Black was barely a castle and mostly a ruin. The first question Jon had posed to Arthur yesterday had been answered instantly – the Night’s Watch was decaying like a corpse. 

And yet, according to Valasin there was a surprising treasure here. Valyrian blood.

The dragon had informed Jon with disdain that he could smell the stench of it somewhere in the castle and it caused Arthur to almost hit his forehead in realization. There was a Targaryen at the Wall, a living member of his lost family, and Jon was excited to meet him. 

When two bored guards allowed them to walk into the castle without as much as a questioning, Jon realized with dread that Castle Black had no walls to defend it to the west, east or south and only the Wall stood to the north, literally their only defense. What would happen if someone was to attack them from the southern side? True, Uncle Benjen had described to him once how Castle Black was built and how the Watch operated by taking no part in the realm’s politics, but seeing it’s pitiful state with his own eyes, left him shaken and thinking that their neutrality assured they wouldn’t be attacked from the south was just naive. 

Jon’s musings were interrupted when he was forced to take a step back when a boy landed at his feet. He looked him over and grimaced seeing a hurriedly made protective training armor, his broken shield, and a crooked, rusty, old sword…

“Who are you?” a stern-looking man walked closer to them and Jon noticed with the corner of his eye that Arthur hid his nose more into his scarfs, trying to cover his face. 

The grey-haired man looked Jon over and then his eyes focused on Arthur. It was visible that the knight’s posture tensed. 

“Forgive me, my lord…” Jon started.

“Ser…” the man sneered, raising his head. “Ser Alliser Thorne.”

“Ser Alliser,” Jon smiled pleasantly. “We were travelling around these lands and I thought it would be a good opportunity to visit my uncle, Benjen Stark; he is a ranger of the Night’s Watch.” 

Upon hearing that, the man’s face became even more disdainful than before, as he looked Jon up and down. 

“You are a Stark?”

“A Snow, Ser,” Jon corrected smoothly and unsurprisingly the man sneered, before his eyes turned to Arthur searchingly and Jon decided that his inquisitive stare did not bode well. 

“And this man?”

“Adam, his name is Adam,” Jon offered a bit too quickly. “He’s mute!” he added at second thought. “And…” he leaned over Thorne and offered in a hushed tone “…quite the simpleton.”

He could almost feel the pain Arthur would put him through during their next spar for this jab. Thorne only growled and to Jon’s surprise kicked the boy who was still lying on the ground. 

“Move, you lazy useless turd and go search for the Lord Commander!” 

The boy stood up with a wince and moved somewhere upstairs, limping visibly.

“They are hopeless, all of them,” the man grunted under his tone. “And I am forced to live among them.”

“Forced?” Jon asked carefully. 

“It’s my punishment,” Thorne snarled.

“For what?” Jon questioned quietly, wondering who this man was. A murderer, a rapist?

“For loyalty to our true king!” the man offered proudly. “But the Bastard of Winterfell could not possibly understand that!” 

With that last offensive comment, Alliser Thorne left them and Jon turned to Arthur in silent question.

“He was a knight of House Thorne of the Crownlands and he fought on the side of House Targaryen during the rebellion. He was most loyal to your father, Your Grace,” Arthur offered so quietly that it was almost indistinctive. “I knew him personally and I can’t believe what has happened to him. He used to be so… gallant.”

Jon sighed heavily looking around the gloom and cold Castle Black. He had a feeling this place would be able suck the gallantry out of anyone. 

* * *

“We cannot offer you more, but we will not deny you guest rights,” Lord Commander Mormont informed and Jon found himself sitting tensely, like an eager student in the presence of this stern man. “Brother Benjen should be back within two or three days. I don’t want to sound rude but I would appreciate it if you didn’t overstay our hospitality.”

Jon only nodded solemnly. 

“We have provisions, we can…”

“You are going to travel back to Winterfell, as you said. Keep your provisions for the trip, boy. I have to thank you for the information about the Wildlings. In fact, we have noticed them ganging in bigger groups.”

“I have a feeling this matter should be taken care of. While at Winterfell I can put in a good word with Lord Stark. I have no doubt he will aid you with resources and men.” 

Mormont watched him carefully and slowly nodded, so Jon thanked the Lord Commander honestly and stood up.

“You will not even notice us here, I swear, my lord,” Jon offered the man a small smile.” But before we go, I would like to ask you something. I was told that your maester is known as a great expert in the old Valyrian lore. Would it be too much of an inconvenience if I take some of his time?”

Mormont considered Jon carefully, with narrowed eyes.

“We are trying not to tire him needlessly…”

“It will be quick. I swear, I have only good intentions. And I believe… my findings can bring your maester a great joy.”

The Old Bear seemed to be skeptical, but eventually agreed to that and Jon was allowed to meet Aemon Targaryen. 

* * *

It was almost surreal that he was seated in front of the old man, whose milky white, blind eyes were somehow focused straight on him. 

“Please, leave us alone, ” Jon turned to his Kingsguard.

“You too, Chett,” the maester said in a shaky voice waving at his steward that was present. 

The boy with a red face and many boils was clearly hesitant to leave their maester with a stranger, but eventually complied and the two Targaryens were finally alone. The old man sat silently with a slight smile, waiting patiently for Jon to talk.

“I was told you have questions about Valyrian lore, don’t you boy?” the old man asked eventually, when Jon took just a bit too long to come up with anything to say. 

“I have to admit with shame, it was only a ruse to meet with you,” Jon told him slowly, picking up the fabric they had wrapped Dark Sister in and taking out the blade. “I know everything that is to know but I think, you should be able to… just touch it.” 

He offered the sword and Maester Aemon took it with shaking hands. He frowned, gently tracing the weapon with his fingers.

“Is this what I think it is?” he rasped, his blind eyes opening in shock.

“Yes, it’s Dark Sister. But aside from that, I have something else; a story to share with you.”

Maester Aemon smirked a bit and nodded.

“Share it then, my boy.”

And Jon did. 

* * *

It felt strange, but Jon allowed the man to inspect his face carefully and his bony cold fingers were tracing Jon’s cheeks and nose while the man was smiling all the time. 

“My brother had a nose like that,” Maester Aemon informed. “A bit… crooked from the profile.”

“It’s a bit similar to yours,” Jon suggested.

“Oh, I am blind but I can easily say you weren’t cursed with my ugly beak!” 

Jon snorted and to his annoyance realized that his eyes had filled with tears. 

“That’s fine, my boy,” his great uncle cooed softly when he felt tears on his fingers. “Come,” he opened his arms. “It’s been so long, I have never thought I will meet another of my blood!” 

Jon obediently enclosed the man in a hug, as gently as possible, fearing for his delicate and fragile state. 

“You have to eat better,” he informed the maester with a wave of indignation. “I will send you all you may need, this place is… vile.”

“Don’t bother,” Maester Aemon chuckled softly and brushed Jon’s hair from his face. “A man as old as me doesn’t need much. Honestly, I never did.”

“When I become king, I will make certain the Wall will be properly taken care of and you… you cannot just rot here, you need to be back with your family!”

“Don’t feel offended by this, but the brothers of the Watch are my family. All is well. But have you…” Maester Aemon hesitated briefly. “Have you heard about your aunt and uncle? Not much news reaches me anymore.”

Jon sighed heavily. 

“I have people looking for them. If they are alive, I will find them,” he offered in earnest. 

He hadn’t realized how much it would mean for him to meet his Targaryen kin. Just being in the presence of his great uncle he could feel something strange, almost like his blood had started to sing. 

“A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing,” Maester Aemon bowed his head slowly. “If you find them…”

“When I find them…” Jon corrected him softly and the old maester actually snorted. 

“Good to feel that Valyrian fire in someone! When you find them, take good care of them. Promise me that. Their life has been hard enough.”

“I will, I swear,” Jon vowed solemnly. “They will have a home and family. I am sure they are wonderful.”

At that, Maester Aemon grimaced a bit. 

“Poor Viserys was forced to spend a lot of time in his father’s presence. I hope, and I shall start to pray for that, that he is nothing like him. I want to believe he is like Rhaegar. And Daenerys, she is surely just like Rhaella,” the man said almost dreamily. “Let’s hope for that. You will not stop looking for them, won’t you? Some will try to swing you away from that path. They will whisper that Viserys may want the throne for himself but remember Jon, love and family are worth more than any throne and any kingdom.”

At that Jon couldn’t stop himself, he snorted.

“Yes… I think that Prince Rhaegar proved that,” he mocked slightly, moving away but Maester Aemon took hold of his hands, with surprising strength. 

“It is easy for you to mock. I assume you have not fallen in love with a woman yet?” the old man asked and Jon shrugged but realizing that Aemon couldn’t see him, he confirmed it verbally. “Well, then we shall speak again when you do. When you meet someone, whose happiness will mean everything to you; a person you love so much that you will die and kill for. Someone, whose absence will be like an unbearable pain in your heart, almost driving you mad.”

“Prince…” Jon said in a strangled voice. “My father had a duty towards his people and the realm! Towards his wife and children! His actions were dishonorable! I would never put love before my responsibilities!” 

“Duty and honor!” Maester Aemon chuckled and patted Jon’s cheek. “What’s honor compared to a woman’s love? What is duty against the feeling of a newborn son in your arms, or the memory of a brother’s smile? We are only human, and the Gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy, my boy.”

Jon couldn’t find the right answer to his uncle’s words. 

“I have been given a long life. It has been a good life in a way. I was blessed with a chance to have a loving family. I still miss my brother,” Maester Aemon sighed and turned his gaze towards the fire and nodded to himself slowly. "I once advised him to kill the boy within himself; to be a man. Oh, he was always such a dreamer. I wonder sometimes if dreams were where the doom of our family started,” he mused, turning to Jon sharply. “But you are trying to kill the boy far too early and force yourself to be a man, to guard us against the winter. But sometimes it takes love and experience to kill the boy and let the man be born. What kind of a ruler would you be, if you did not understand love? As I said, we will speak more about duty and love then!”

There was a soft knock at the door and they moved away and Jon quickly covered Dark Sister. 

“Come in!” the maester invited and to Jon’s utter surprise, it was Arthur and Ser Alliser Thorne that walked in. 

Jon felt slight dread in the pit of his stomach, upon seeing that his Kingsguard had his head lowered and looked like a child waiting to be scolded. The Master-at-Arms watched Jon with a gaze, completely different from the venomous one he had been giving him in the training yard earlier. 

_Wonderful_. Jon rolled his eyes and sat straighter beckoning the men closer. They approached silently, both in an almost submissive state that was just getting comical.

“I can say you have failed at your duty, Ser Arthur!” Jon reprimanded sharply and the knight glanced at Ser Alliser briefly; the man was watching them with big eyes and shock clear on his face. 

“He sounds just like him…” the man murmured with a headshake. 

“Ser Alliser is very observant, Your Grace. There was not much I could do.”

“I see,” Jon sighed heavily and slightly glared at Maester Aemon when the old man chuckled. “Close the door and come inside. Both of you!” 

* * *

Jon was aware he was overstaying the Watch’s welcome. It was his fifth day on the Wall, even though he promised Jeor Mormont they wouldn’t stay more than a day. Strangely, he felt at ease with all these peculiar people, most of which were criminals and outcasts. They were either bad-tempered and unfriendly or plain hostile, but after meeting with the Wildlings, nothing would be able to discourage Jon anymore. At first, the black brothers were untrusting, but when Jon started to engage in their training, worked alongside them and treated them with respect, one by one they started to open up. They were also giving Jon the credit for changing Ser Alliser Thorne’s attitude, though they had no idea how that came to be. It was true too, since Jon had simply ordered the man to start acting like a true knight and mentor, not some slaver with a whip. 

The man had been ready to argue with him, but Jon had only raised his hand and informed him haughtily that he would never consider releasing him from his vows to the Watch if Thorne remained a tormentor. In fact, Jon wasn’t sure if he would possess the power to grant such a favor, even if he was the King of the Seven Kingdoms, though the relieved and happy expression of the older man, told him that he would at least try. It was one of the things to reevaluate later. 

Some of the men living in Castle Black were simply nasty, their behavior repulsive and making Jon uncomfortable, but just as many of them were just unfortunate boys, whose lives were hard and unfair. The more Jon heard about their stories, the more he found himself identifying with them; it was after all true that if Arthur, Vera and later on Valasin hadn’t come into his life, he’d have already asked Lord Stark to allow him to join the Watch and though most of the bitterness Jon had for Lord Stark had ebbed away, the boy often found himself wondering if his Uncle would have informed him exactly what the Watch was, before granting him his request. 

Among the brothers of the Night’s Watch, Eddison Tollett grew on Jon the most, thanks to his bitter sense of humor, which somehow reminded Jon of his dragon’s own. At first, the boy wasn’t sure why the older man was nicknamed Dolorous Edd, but when Tollett had finally shared with Jon that he was nothing but fooled into taking the black, the young king had almost fallen from his bench, rolling with laughter. His ongoing bitter mood became rather clear after this confession. It was one of a few stories that were amusing though, most of them were rather heartrending.

One boy had ended up at the Wall because some lustful lord falsely accused him of stealing, while the boy’s only crime was the fact he didn’t allow the noble to molest him. The peaceful and gentle man was not only unfit to the harsh life at Castle Black but was also being punished for nothing. He was sentenced to a cruel life just because of some arse’s desire wasn’t satisfied. When later Jon shared his outrage with his Uncle Benjen, the man only smiled sadly and informed him that sometimes there was no way to change the world. Well, his uncle was wrong and Jon would prove that to him one day. 

“The Wall is a home for those who have no other place,” Benjen told him sadly. “I am glad you have found your place in this world, though. They treat you good there, on Hidden Island?”

Jon nodded slowly, grimacing at the cup with the disgusting watered piss the Watch called ale. He was tempted to share his secret with Benjen but so many people knew about his true identity, already. His uncle could wait a bit to learn the truth, after all it would only be a few moons before Jon would stake his claim. 

“You know, if I hadn’t decided to take that risk I would have been a recruit of the Night’s Watch myself,” Jon murmured rather coyly, observing his uncle carefully. 

Benjen sighed heavily, drinking his ale. 

“You wouldn’t be happy here.”

“If your opinion of the Wall is so poor, why did you join all those years ago?” Jon asked and at his bold inquiry Benjen lowered his gaze. 

“I decided it was a fitting place for me. Here, I would not be able to cause any more grief to my family.”

Jon’s eyes snapped up to his uncle in suspicion. 

“And what kind of grief did you ever cause your family?” he questioned, genuinely surprised

His uncle only shook his head and asked him quietly to stop the query. His stubbornness only caused Jon’s interest to grow though and he got ready to drill his uncle with questions.

“As far as I heard you were always nothing but a good brother. In fact, it’s surprising you decided to take the black and leave your family, especially after Uncle Brandon was executed and your sister…”

Jon stopped mid sentence when his uncle banged his fist on the table, almost causing their drinks to spill. This unusual show of anger surprised the boy and frightened him a bit. His face had to show said fear, because Arthur stood up quickly from his table and came closer, silently stopping behind his uncle. Jon felt his heart beating rapidly, as his suspicions over his uncle’s actions grew. It was so strange for him to act so… aggressive. 

“It’s in the past, we cannot change the past!” the man argued, his anger disappearing as quickly as it came. “We should focus more on the future, that’s all that matters. Please, Jon…” his voice turned so strangled with emotion that Jon almost felt himself letting go of his suspicions; almost.

There was guilt and so much shame in Benjen’s eyes that the young man began to realize something. But it surely could not be, right? It was impossible for so many people to know… for so many to have held the knowledge of his parentage and to have done nothing about it. _Liars and cowards_ , he realized with growing anger. _He was surrounded by liars, cowards and traitors!_

His fist closed tightly around his cup and he focused on the structure of wood the table was made with, in order to not look at Benjen’s shamed face. He tried to stop the anger inside him from getting out of control. Did his other uncle know all along, just like Ned Stark? Had they agreed to keep him hidden to cover the shame their sister caused them? Had they agreed to name his true father a rapist and him a bastard? Was it all so that the Baratheon Usurper could sit the throne of his family?

Jon raised his furious eyes back at his uncle, as he steadily lost the fight of reining in his anger but his uncle was spared, when a group of black brothers came over to their table and sat down loudly, somehow lessening the strange tension. Soon they started to complain about the flavorless food and the nasty ale, dragging Jon into the small talk and thus allowing his dragon wrath to become dormant once more. 

“About the future, Jon…” Uncle Benjen drawled and tried to smile, looking back at his nephew. 

He cleared his throat, clearly trying to regain his composure and raised his cup looking at Jon with raised eyebrows. The expression was probably meant to be cheerful, but he looked rather pale. 

“I bet you have a nice girl waiting for you. It’s not too soon to think about starting a family.”

 _That was his best attempt to divert my attention?_ Jon thought angrily and was about to harshly inform Uncle Benjen that it was none of his business, but Yoren guffawed and hit his back so hard that Jon almost crushed his forehead on the table. 

“Family? A green boy like him?” the Night’s Watch recruiter mocked. 

“By the Gods!” Jon only rolled his eyes, trying to straighten his hurting back, but the others were only eager to join in the teasing. 

Edd wiggled his eyebrows playfully. 

“Something tells me he is not as green as he seems. The lad is prettier than most of the whores in Mole’s Town! He probably has dozens of girls!” 

“And…” Yoren offered with a broad smile “… he probably has to hide them from each other!” 

Jon felt his cheeks and ears filling with blood, but his visible discomfort only caused the older men to laugh more. He wanted to get back to being angry at his uncle for fuck’s sake. Couldn’t those jesters just leave him be? 

“I can tell you earned yourself decent coin,” Uncle Benjen continued patting his furs. “You can afford a wife. Do you have your eyes on someone?”

Before Jon was able to throw some snarky remark his way, he was rescued. 

“Leave him alone,” Alliser Thorne walked closer and looked at them with his typical sneer. “What are you? Adults or some boys? And how do you know what the whores in Mole’s Town look like, Tollett?”

 _Oh, I am definitely going to give him a free passage from this frozen shithole_ , Jon vowed himself solemnly, as Edd started mumbling some excuse. 

“You know what I think?” Yoren said slowly, looking at Thorne with mockery. “I think our Master at Arms has his eyes on the lad too!” 

“I am so happy that tomorrow I’ll leave this frozen place and you jerks behind,” Jon grumbled at which everyone started to laugh even harder. 

But despite his jab, when the next day he and Arthur started to pack for their departure, Jon had to admit he would miss these assholes. 

“We will see each other soon,” he promised, hugging his uncle tightly, as he had already decided last night to bench whatever argument was just waiting to take shape between them, for when the truth came out. “I shall visit again. And when I do, we shall sit alone and we shall talk” the boy informed his uncle and he knew his gaze was hiding some threat there, as Uncle Benjen straightened his back, before eventually nodding. 

Jon looked around and reached to his satchel, taking off a few dragonglass daggers. He handed them to his uncle and closed the man’s hands over it with urgency.

“Don’t move beyond the Wall without one of those, promise me that!”

His uncle scowled looking down at the pieces of stone. 

“I read once about this… and I have seen some things during my ranging,” Uncle Benjen sighed and looked at him seriously and Jon held his gaze for a moment, trying to express as much earnestness and seriousness as possible. 

“Let’s just say that all the stories that Old Nan had for us…those were not fairytales to scare summer children. Winter is coming and the dead come with it,” Jon said tensely.

“But…”

“Don’t ask more for now. Next time we meet, I will explain everything. Just trust me.”

His uncle looked down and Jon noticed his eyes filling with tears. 

“Jon, before you go…I think you should know that…” the man looked around and moved a bit closer, whispering so lowly that he was barely able to hear him. “Keep asking Ned about your mother. You have the right to know. He has to tell you everything.”

“I will,” Jon only gulped uneasily, before he nodded and cleared his throat, taking a step back. “I will keep bugging him with questions, don’t worry.”

“I would tell you but I swore…”

“Just shut up!” he snarled, his temper finally getting the best of him. “Just shut up, take it and try not to die.” 

He pushed the dragonglass into his hands more firmly and took a step away. He was slowly slipping into the anger again and knew he would not be able to fight it for too long. It was however neither the place nor the time to cause a scene and confirm what he had already realized; both his uncles were liars, not just the one back at Winterfell. 

Uncle Benjen looked somehow smaller looking down at one of the daggers and stroking its black edges. 

“Just be careful, Jon,” the man told him, as he looked him over and worried his lower lip. “Maybe you should take a horse, the road…”

“Don’t worry, as I’ve told you many times, our people are close and we shall meet them on the road.”

“Still, I don’t understand how did you get…?”

“Stay strong uncle! And please, take care of Maester Aemon; I’ve grown very fond of him!” Jon interrupted patting Benjen Stark’s arm. “I have to go. I wouldn’t want to miss the arrival of our royal guests!”

He spent another hour saying goodbye to other Night’s Watch brothers and Maester Aemon, the farewell with the elderly man leaving him especially touched. 

“It could have gone far worse than that,” Arthur said later, when, after the sun had set, they had climbed on Valasin’s back.

“Aside from your slipup, it went splendid,” Jon mocked, raising his eyebrows and the knight grew red with shame.

“I am really sorry about Thorne but, that man is as tenacious as…”

“Let’s not talk about it anymore. But!” Jon turned to Arthur and pointed a finger at him. “If he turns out to be a disgrace, I will hold you personally responsible.”

Arthur Dayne sighed heavily. 

“Your Grace, let’s be serious for a moment. You offered to free him from that frozen prison…that man will be as loyal to you as a well-trained dog!”

 _Well, it is hard to debate such logic_. Truth be told, Jon wasn’t very worried about Thorne. The situation with Uncle Benjen worried him far more. 

“Ser Arthur, before we take off…” he asked, slowly turning to the man. “Do you think it’s possible that someone helped my mother to…reach Prince Rhaegar?”

His Kingsguard blinked clearly taken aback by such a question, but upon realizing that Jon expected an actual answer, he looked down.

“To be honest, it wasn’t her that reached out to Rhaegar,” the man said, as Jon listened attentively with raised eyebrows. “Lyanna was more than ready to leave on her own, to escape her betrothal with the Usurper, but Rhaegar sought her out and offered his help. There were a few other circumstances that sent the Prince and us her way…” the knight trailed off hesitantly. 

“What?” Jon asked with a huff. 

“King Aerys…he…” Arthur huffed once more. “I’ve already told you about your mother being the Knight of the Laughing Tree and King Aerys sending me and your father after her.” 

“Yes”, Jon nodded impatiently. “You said that was why Prince Rhaegar crowned her as Queen of Love and Beauty at the tourney.”

“Well, the King eventually learned that the Mystery Knight was really Lyanna Stark and sent men to apprehend her,” Arthur said, making Jon gasp. “We went after them to stop them and save her,” the man continued. “I would say she was rather well prepared to run away on her own, though.”

Jon exhaled deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“But why then did people believe she was abducted?” he asked in irritation, but Arthur only shook his head and shrugged, obviously not knowing the answer either; Jon sighed in frustration of not having all the required pieces to explain what had happened. “You said she was prepared?” 

“She had gold, and was dressed like a boy. She had provisions and weapons and…”

“Enough, Arthur,” Jon interrupted him, sharply turning away and focusing back on his dragon’s black scales. 

He didn’t want to hear anymore. He knew the truth of his parentage and yet there were still so many secrets, so many unexplained actions and events behind and during the Rebellion. Why had Brandon Stark rushed to King’s Landing, thinking his sister had been abducted? Why didn’t his mother leave letters behind? Jon was fairly certain by now that his Uncle Benjen had helped her run away, but why hadn’t he alerted people of that fact? How had a rescue mission gone so horribly wrong that people thought it an abduction, still? 

“Your parents were meant to be together, no matter what, your Grace. I think that even if we hadn’t gone after her, she would have found her way to Rhaegar…”

“I told you that was enough, didn’t I?!” he found himself yelling at the man and Valasin growled lowly, probably getting in tune with his growing anger.

One event linked with another, actions and reactions and people’s lives lost. Did his mother just want to escape her upcoming wedding with Robert Baratheon so much that she neglected to alert anyone that she was running away? Did his father really have a noble reason to go after her, as Arthur believed or there was something more sinister in his actions? Did he save her from the people his demented grandfather had sent after her, only to imprison her himself? Or maybe she was selfish and manipulative enough to bind herself to someone more powerful than she intended? Arthur could just be seeing what he wanted to see – a flawless man and a love-struck young girl, whose love accidentally caused a tragedy. But perhaps he was nothing but a fruit born out of manipulation and foolishness. Nothing but the evidence of selfishness and lust. 

“ _Please, don’t suffer so much, human child…_ ” Valasin whispered very gently and Jon realized that his cheeks were wet from tears. “ _Maybe I can kill the one who causes that pain? Is it this bug and his words?”_

Jon snorted at the offer and shook his head quickly wiping the tears from his cheeks. He felt somehow better, hearing his dragon’s worry. He could sense the creature trying to goad him, covering his suffering with indifference and playfulness. Jon allowed him to do so. Not fighting this was really smart…he could almost instantly think straight. 

“They are long dead…” he informed simply patting Valasin’s scales. “It’s just the shadow. But I just realized that I will always live in that shadow, my friend.” 

The dragon almost purred and tilted his head back, flashing Jon his green eye. 

“ _What is the shadow for the Lightbringer and his Light,”_ the dragon snickered. “ _Don’t bother yourself with a shadow of the past.”_

“I guess it is not important… compared to our might?” Jon tried to joke and put the gloomy thoughts behind. 

The dragon laughed and shook his head, causing his whole body to wiggle. Arthur screamed softly and tried to hold onto something to stay at the dragon’s back. 

“ _The only shadow that will matter from now on shall be the shadow we will cast on people and cities. You will get to see for yourself, how exciting said shadow is!_ ”

Jon decided to trust his dragon on that and took a deep breath, forcing the unpleasant thoughts to leave his mind. Uncle Benjen had been right on one thing – the past was in the past and he should focus on the future. Maybe someday he’ll have enough answers to fill all these blanks and explain his parents’ actions. Maybe he won’t ever know. It didn’t matter. 

“Let’s fly to Winterfell, Valasin,” Jon said loudly, patting his dragon’s scales again; he had missed the feeling of his heat and strength. “I am dreaming of eating something besides watery porridge!” 

“ _And I am dreaming of eating something besides venison_ ,” the beast added with excitement. “ _Perhaps a small village on the way to the castle would do?”_

“I will pretend you didn’t just suggest that! Let’s go!” Jon said sharply at which the dragon sighed heavily, like he was suffering beyond reason. “I am eager to meet our long-awaited guests. It would be in bad taste if we were late for their arrival, don’t you think?”

* * *

PENTOS

She wanted to be as excited as her brother but she had long learned that their life just wasn’t meant to be simple and happy. The moons they had spent in the estate of the Magister Illyrio Mopatis were like a dream come true; dozens of servants were at their every beck and call, she was gifted with soft dresses and expensive shoes and could eat and drink till her belly was full. 

Still, there was suspicion lurking in the back of her mind. On more than one occasion she heard her brother mentioning her name in his conversations with the magister, but it was thanks to a servant girl that Daenerys finally understood her brother’s motives. 

One night, Daenerys yanked her recently discarded small clothes from the servant girl's hand blushing furiously, when she realized the servant girl was inspecting it carefully. 

“What are you doing?” she asked outraged, but the girl only shrugged.

“I am checking if you started to bleed.”

The simple answer put fear in Dany, far greater than she could have expected. Till now she was sure that she was bound to Viserys, that she would become his sister-wife as the women in their family were meant to do, the perspective unpleasant and yet familiar, but now another dreadful thought started to haunt her. She had her suspicions but when she asked her brother if he was planning to give her up to their benefactor as a bride, Viserys took hold of her arm so tightly that he left bruises. Lately, the dragon could be woken easily, by the smallest of questions or a smile that her brother didn’t deem genuine. Dany had learnt early on that the best approach, whenever the fire inside her brother was sparked, was to apologize profusely. Apologizing was always the safest bet, it mattered not what she was apologizing for, Viserys so far appeared to calm down instantly, after she would admit her mistake. 

The night she had asked that question, however, what had terrified her most was not his violent way, but him switching to an almost tender attitude towards her. The way he had looked up and down her body, tracing fingers over her belly, hips and breasts, with his usual feather like touches, though his gaze held something different. 

“Don’t bother yourself with important matters, sweet sister, it is my duty to arrange everything” he said slowly, almost smiling at her. “Just keep growing nicely. Soon, you will be ready.”

Those words scared her beyond reason. 

_Soon, you will be ready_.

She knew exactly what Viserys had meant by that, so every morning after that she inspected herself, and so far, every morning she had breathed a sigh of relief, seeing no blood on her bedding. But on the other hand she could see and feel changes taking place in her body and she knew she was living on the borrowed time. 

She would trade anything, even her mother’s precious ring, the only memento left of Queen Rhaella Targaryen, so she could escape to someplace and be able to gain a life of her own, to be in charge of her own destiny. But she had no gold, no useful skills and no friends. She was forced to admit she had no chance to run from her brother and as Viserys liked to remind her, without him she was worth nothing. Sometimes she was dreaming of her younger years, when Ser Willem was alive and would sit with her under their lemon tree all day, describing how beautiful her true home was. She was dreaming of times when her brother was gentle and protective of her.

But Ser Willem was no more and the old Viserys had faded into nothing, after being forced to sell their mother’s crown to feed them. And there was no one else in the whole Planetos, who would care for her wellbeing. 

It was only Viserys and his shady motives. 

So, she balled her fists and started to kick her bedding in silent frustration, cursing her brother and the bloody Usurper who had stolen everything from them. She screamed into her pillow in anger; feeling the strange fire inside her growing stronger.

If she was only given a chance to feed this flame, she was sure it would be able to burn down everything standing in her way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think about chapter 12 😊
> 
> Next time - Joffrey and Jon Arryn arrive at Winterfell. You know it means trouble, right?


	13. Golden Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guests from Kings Landing arrive at Winterfell. Their stay is far from being peaceful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter so far... You will need around 50 minutes to read it!  
> If you want to split it, two main plotlines are separated with *** symbol.
> 
> **Onar27 is officially the co-author of this chapter! **❤  
> **  
> **  
>  Thanks to Wulfkin17 for beta-reading.

As it turned out they had plenty of time to spare for they were forced to wait for another moon before the royal entourage arrived. During this additional time, Jon took advantage of the opportunity to train with Robb, play with Arya and his younger brothers and avoid Lady Stark. A task that was easy for him to do, since the woman had grown obsessed with the preparations to welcome the Hand of the King and, more importantly, the Crown Prince and Sansa’s betrothed. Both she and Sansa marched around the keep, making certain that the servants were fulfilling their tasks, the visiting Lords were satisfied in their stay and everything was immaculate.

Of course, the downside for poor Lady Catelyn was that since the Hand of the King was essentially visiting Winterfell to meet with the Islanders, she had to put up with Vera’s presence, without complaint. The two women had not exchanged many words after that first catastrophic feast upon their arrival, but had instead resorted to exchanging angry glares with each other during meals or whenever they met in a hallway, making their dislike for each other very plain and the rest of the Starks very uncomfortable. Jon thought it was hilarious and if the worst they did was trade disdainful glares, everyone ought to be relieved. He had to give it to Lady Stark too, since not once had she cowered away from Vera’s murderous gaze; Jon was terrified of the woman’s anger and her glares and he was her king.

Somehow they had managed to turn it into a game, too. At first it had been him and Arya looking at each other and snorting into their plates, every time Vera and Lady Stark would glare at one another. Jeyne had surprisingly caught on to their source of amusement and in a stroke of brilliance that had left Jon in awe, she had come up with a game where when one of them took notice of one of the Ladies in question glaring and pointed it out to the others, they had to eat a lemon cake. Unfortunately, since it involved Jeyne, Theon had nagged him, until they had let him in the game. The squid had, of course, stupidly suggested they use wine instead, but Jon had pointed out that the girls couldn’t play that way and even they wouldn’t get away with getting drunk every single night. So all four of them were getting fat instead. Even more amusing than the game had been Robb and Sansa’s reaction upon being left out from whatever the four of them were up to; Robb had actually whined about it for the better half of an hour just the previous day. Jon knew it was childish and petty, but all four of the participants of the game drew a probably unhealthy amount of satisfaction from excluding the two eldest Stark siblings.

Still, even what Arya had eloquently dubbed ‘The Great Glare War of Winterfell’ was not enough to curb Jon’s impatience, though his biggest consolation was surprisingly that he had, once again, started to find joy in spending time with Lord Stark; they had reached some balance in their relationship that Jon was working hard to maintain. There had been, however, one obstacle that had almost caused them to fight again – Arya’s lessons with the sword. Lord Stark wasn’t planning on denying his daughter lessons on how to wield a blade, despite Lady Stark’s protests, but Jon’s idea to engage Arthur in that had caused Lord Stark to reconsider. Jon knew that his uncle was hesitant to leave his daughter in the hands of a man he had almost killed once and who did nothing to hide his feelings of derision towards the Lord of Winterfell. Furthermore, he knew that Ned Stark was afraid that Arthur might try to swing Arya to his side and turn her against her father. The young king had thought it to be an absurd idea, but when one day he caught Arthur mocking Lord Stark and his strict rules, Arya happily listening to such berating, Jon was forced to put his Kingsguard in his place. Arya was rebellious enough as it was. Even Lord Stark couldn’t deny, however, that his gruff protector had grown to genuinely like and care for his sister. The fact that she had such a fierce protector at her disposal caused Jon great relief.

He watched their lessons, usually sitting in the Godswood with Ghost and Nymeria and leaving them alone to their sword exercises. He found himself reverting to his habit of brooding, usually then, disappointed that there were so few opportunities to train with Dark Sister. The risk was too high though and Jon had to settle for using it only in the safety of his room. At those few opportunities, however, where he had gotten to wield the blade of Visenya and the Dragonknight, it had almost felt like the sword was an extension of his arm. It was light and sharp and Arthur had admitted begrudgingly that it was a blade on par with Dawn. For Jon it was perfect.

One day, he found his Kingsguard and his little sister talking together instead of fighting and he approached them worried that Arthur had started again to incite Arya to rebel against Lord Stark. Although, when he snuck up on them, he regretted he had invaded their privacy.

“… and she died?” Arya asked quietly and Jon started to back off, when he realized that his knight was clearly fighting down tears.

“She had suffered greatly. My sister lost her friend, her baby…she thought she had lost her brother. Sadly, no one was there to help her deal with the pain.”

Arthur glanced at him and swallowed loudly, trying to stand straighter.

“Arya asked about my family. I haven’t given any names…” the man said in a strangled voice, clearing his throat and coughing.

“I know,” Jon interrupted gently. “You shouldn’t pry so much Arya,” he told his sister and the girl looked down.

“I was curious. I am sorry I made you cry, Arthur,” the girl said with genuine regret in her voice and Jon felt out of place and intruding when Arya embraced the man. “You couldn’t help your sister. I am sure she knew that if you could, you would have. Don’t blame yourself. You are without a doubt the best brother in the world.”

Her honest words of consolation only caused Arthur Dayne to cough in a transparent attempt to stop himself from tearing up.

“Thank you, little wolf. Go!” the knight pushed the girl away gently towards Jon. “Perhaps you should train with Jon today, I…I don’t feel well.”

The girl looked up and nodded sadly, moving to Jon’s side. They both watched as Arthur walked away, probably somewhere private, where he could mourn his lost sister in his own privacy.

“I am sorry I made him sad…” Arya whispered.

“Don’t be, little sister. He needed that hug; I think you’ve helped him greatly.”

“Jon?” Arya whispered, pulling him down and he leaned closer obediently with raised eyebrows. “I told him he is the best brother in the world but I did so, so he would feel better. You are the best brother in the world of course!”

“Oh, Arya!” he exclaimed and pinched the bridge of his nose feeling a wave of emotion taking control of him; for the future king, he was crying too often lately. “Get your sword and let’s fight.”

“Don’t be a weeper!” his sister muttered, rolling her eyes and unsheathed her training blade. “Leave the tears for your defeat!” 

* * *

More and more Northern Lords had been arriving at Winterfell and despite her ongoing glare war with Lady Stark, Vera was doing an amazing job with charming them. Jon found himself rolling his eyes more than once at the way the gruff men were watching after her, as she walked around the castle in her airy black dresses that Lady Stark, without any doubt, deemed inappropriate. The way she was acting, confident and flirty, was a bit scandalous, but Jon knew that the North, while not in any way on par with Dorne, afforded its women more freedom than most of the Southern kingdoms. Needless to say, the Lords seemed to enjoy themselves in Vera’s presence and quite soon, the Islanders started to be referred to as First Men, not foreigners.

“Like us!” Lord Karstark announced drunkenly, during one of the feasts, and raised his goblet in toast for the new friends from Hidden Island.   
Again, knowing how much Vera had offered him for buying Ironwood from around Karhold, Rickard Karstark should be friendly. The bags of silver had managed to even soften the blow of the news of a Southern bride for the Heir of Winterfell; silver... and carefully laid promises, that the joining of their Houses will be postponed for only one generation.

For a few days, Vera had only anger and no charm for Jon himself though. At first, the news of him inviting Wildlings to Hidden Island had left her furious and clearly feeling betrayed. But later, when the first burst of anger had started to lessen, she had admitted tentatively that Hidden Island was the only reasonable place, for now, to shelter the Wildlings. Their ultimate goal was to stop the Others and everyone had to suffer some inconvenience. She had also admitted that the Islanders could use some fresh blood, especially that of children. During the year he had spent on Hidden Island it had gotten glaringly obvious that they were wrestling with some serious fertility issues caused by the fact they were mingling amongst themselves for many centuries. Vera was the sole midwife on the island and it had baffled him how much she knew about human health, probably more than any Maester or Westerosi healer would know. And yet, despite her vast knowledge, so many women were bleeding out too soon and so many children were stillborn or sick. His gentle reminder that Hidden Island could become livelier and grow stronger thanks to all those innocent Wildling children seemed to work.

The only black cloud in his good mood was the fact that the Tyrells still hadn’t responded to Lord Stark’s offer of a betrothal with the Heir of Winterfell. With every passing day, Jon grew more and more worried about that fact, but there was not much he could do besides hope that the news of successful trade deals taking place in the North would interest the Tyrells enough to coax them to answer. And the only answer he would accept was an agreement on the betrothal. The Reach would come to regret their refusal otherwise.

When the day of the arrival of ‘Crown Prince’ Joffrey Baratheon and Hand of the King Jon Arryn came, Jon was ready, focused and cautious. For the last couple of days, Arthur had been showing himself around Winterfell less and less frequently. Currently, he was secured in a distant part of the keep, as far from their guests’ chambers as possible. Only Arya was worried about the knight’s wellbeing but Jon had explained to her that Arthur had his personal reasons to stay away, and thankfully the girl had respected that wish.

When the group of over three hundred riders swamped Winterfell’s yard, Jon had to admit the entourage was impressive. He was taken aback by how many among the guards were Lannisters though; the majority of them. Baratheon’s yellow and Arryn’s blue were single spots of color, while the red banners of the Lions were shining proudly, dominating the rest.

Joffrey Baratheon rode a dark horse, again, wearing the colors of his father, with red linings to once again emphasize his Lannister ancestry. He had a head of golden curls and deep green eyes. Sansa almost shimmered in excitement, but Jon did not like Joffrey’s pouty lip or the bored disdainful way he looked at Winterfell’s yard and the assembled crowd of Northerners and Islanders.

The boy was flanked by two knights bearing the white cloak of a Kingsguard and a knight wearing a dog-like helmet and it took Jon a moment to realize who the man in such peculiar armor was: the Hound, the brother of Gregor Clegane. He was a man that shared blood with the monster who had committed an atrocious crime against Jon’s family and had walked free. Mayhaps he was predisposed too, but Jon could swear he could smell blood from this man as well.

Jaimie Lannister made a show of taking off his helmet and flaunting his golden hair. Jon could almost hear some ladies taking deep breaths, and he couldn’t blame them. The Lannister Lion looked every inch the knight described in Sansa’s silly romantic books; tall and golden, with flashing green eyes and a smile that cut like a knife. The man they called the Lion of Lannister to his face and whispered Kingslayer behind his back. Arthur had a lot to say about the man; Jon hadn’t thought it possible that his Kingsguard could hold someone in lesser esteem than Lord Stark, but that was apparently the case with the White Cloak that had betrayed his vows and slayed his king, Jon’s grandfather. Though, truth be told, Jon had grown up in the North and thus held not much illusion as to what his grandfather was. It did not change what the supposed Kingsguard had allowed to happen to his siblings and their mother.

The Kingslayer spoke shortly to the other man in a white cloak – Jon refused to acknowledge them as Kingsguard, since they did not actually guard the king, the only real Kingsguard was Ser Arthur in his book. It was a man with hooded eyelids and a dark, red beard, whose armor consisted of a shirt of enameled scales chased with gold, a tall helm with a golden sunburst crest and his white cloak was clasped with a golden lion. Those two and the Hound made the skin on Jon’s arms prickle for some reason, with a deep and primitive urge to kill. He had to take a calming breath to stop himself from reaching over to Valasin and encouraging the dragon to burn them all and send them to seven hells; the dragon would do so gleefully too, Jon knew.

An ornate, almost white carriage rolled into the yard shortly after, the falcon sigil of House Arryn carved at the door. The boy raised his eyebrows seeing another Kingsguard riding next to it. The man had a helmet on but Jon knew very well who this older man was.

Ser Barristan Selmy himself. While he didn’t hold as much disdain for the knight as he did for the Kingslayer, Jon was still conflicted about him. He and Arthur had discussed his actions many times and while Jon was hesitant, Arthur held firm in his belief that whatever loyalty the man had held for Jon’s House, he hadn’t retained any of it. He claimed that the Bold had failed in protecting Rhaegar on the Trident and then had chosen to kneel to the Usurper and accept a pardon. According to Arthur, Kingsguard should serve to their very end, but the man was a living legend and Jon was very curious about him. And Arthur could claim that the man held no loyalty for the Targaryens, but it had been Ser Barristan Selmy that had rescued his grandfather from Duskendale and who had slayed Maelys the Monstrous and ended the Blackfyre line, both actions in service to House Targaryen. Jon wondered if the man would kneel to him or remain on the side of Robert Baratheon, when Jon would announce his claim. He did know for certain, however, that there would be no place for Ser Barristan the Bold in his Kingsguard, as long as Arthur could not forgive and accept the knight.

The people bowed in front of the Crown Prince and the Hand of the King, the man old and weak and yet, wielding so much power over Westeros. Jon observed both of them silently, from his place at the back of the gathering, but the slow walk of Jon Arryn seemed to be less interesting than the spectacle that Joffrey Baratheon was currently displaying. The golden prince tried to dismount his horse but his foot got stuck in the stirrup and the boy was struggling to free his leg, without plummeting to the ground. At one point the boy kicked his leg almost making the horse prance but servants were quick to calm the horse and help Joffrey dismount the animal. After he stood on the ground the boy pushed one of the servants away, causing Jon to raise his eyebrows. The man had only tried to help…

Jon noticed the Islanders, the only people in the yard that were not expected to bow, trying to stifle their mocking laughs and snorts. He glanced at Vera, as she stood on the left of Lord Stark, at the front of the gathering and noticed that the woman was smiling broadly. Almost like she could sense his eyes on herself, Vera looked back at him and winked. He nodded softly and lowered his eyes back on the ground. He had faith in her because truly, all was in her hands right now.

* * *

Ned was praying very often lately and it seemed that the Gods were generous and merciful. So far, everything has gone smoothly.   
Jon had started to act more like his old self, Rickard Karstark had taken the rejection far better than Ned had even dared to hope and Lady Vera had been, and it was very hard to admit it to himself, charming. The woman’s attitude towards him, when Jon had seemingly decided to forgive him, changed completely. He wasn’t sure what was an act and what was her true nature, but he much preferred this polite and smiling persona to the sarcastic shrew; she still seemed to revert to that when it came to his wife, but at least the two women had refrained from allowing their dislike for each other to escalate to more than disdainful glares. She was doing very well with the Northern Lords and now, with Jon Arryn. The discussion about the natural resources of the Vale seemed to have engaged them both completely, so Ned could relax as he drank his ale. He was observing his son out of the corner of his eye at all times, but Jon was seated with some of the sons of the visiting Northern Lords further down the hall than the rest of Ned’s family, much to Catelyn’s satisfaction, and seemed to be somehow smaller, as he hid in the shadows. Ned was relieved that the boy tried to avoid gaining any attention.

“Prince Joffrey?” Vera smiled at the Hand of the King one last time and turned her attention towards the Crown Prince.

Ned focused his attention on the boy, just like every other person within earshot did. So far, Robert’s son was almost mute and the only impression that he gave Ned was by the arrogant smirk he threw in Sansa’s direction in the yard and his unnecessarily harsh treatment of the servant. It rubbed Lord Stark the wrong way, as a father and as a man, and he regretted listening to Catelyn and seating the boy next to his daughter. He knew he shouldn’t formulate an opinion just based on that, but still… Ned’s instincts were telling him the boy was bad news. Right now, the blonde boy half laid on his chair and was looking over the hall with a slightly annoyed gaze, clearly not impressed with what the North had to offer. Everything in his posture lacked manners and respect. At Vera’s polite inquiry he turned to her with an almost vicious expression.

“Yes?” the boy asked.

“I was wondering what your plans were regarding Westeros? Perhaps you are already working on the details of your reign? You live in a rare period of peace; it is without a doubt the best time to focus on ameliorating the welfare of your people. I can vouch for that, as Hidden Island hasn’t faced a conflict for many years and we have thrived and expanded. These are good times, because if the calculations the Citadel has provided are accurate, it is possible that during your reign, the winter will strike Westeros.”

Joffrey Baratheon seemed to be surprised by the inquiry and Ned was genuinely curious about his answer. He noticed the Northern Lords sitting closest to the dais turning their attention towards the elevated high table and listening attentively, as did his son from his seat next to his mother. Winter was no joke to them. 

“I will not waste my time on answering to some outsider woman. What can you know about it?” the boy sneered and took hold of a goblet of wine, drinking it with clear distaste.

Under any other circumstances, the clear shock on Vera’s face would be hilarious for Lord Stark, but sadly, Joffrey’s bold statement caused Jon Arryn to choke on his wine and everyone hurried to help him. Vera was the closest and was patting the older man’s back without mercy.

When he finally was able to breathe, Lord Arryn smiled at Vera apologetically.

“Forgive the Prince, my Lady. He is tired beyond reason. I apologize for such disrespect,” Ned’s foster father said and glared at the Prince, but the boy seemed to be too absorbed in grimacing at his food to even look at the man. “And honestly, he is still too young to muster thoughtful answers. People older and smarter, like us, have to be lenient to hot-headed younglings from time to time.”

“Older like us?” Vera raised her eyebrows in challenge. “Are you putting me in the same age category as yourself Lord Arryn? Now that should be considered nothing but an insult!” the woman playfully hit the Lord Hand’s arm and Ned refrained from rolling his eyes with difficulty when his teacher and father-like figure laughed and blushed a bit.

“I am sorry, Lady Vera. For a lady as beautiful and young as you, I can understand how incongruous such comparisons could be.”

“I accept your apology, tentatively, my Lord! You have to try a bit harder… Start with amusing me with the answer to my question.”

Ned drank more of his ale, shaking his head. He was really glad to have this strange woman on their side. 

* * *

There were times – not many, but a few – when Jon Snow was glad he was a bastard. Or pretended to be one, anyway. Lord and Lady Stark, Vera, Robb and Sansa were seated on the raised platform, hosting the Hand of the King and the Crown Prince. Sansa was beaming, looking down at the rest of the Hall with an excited, arrogant smile. Jon rather thought that Lord Stark shouldn’t have seated her on the High Table, next to the Crown Prince; it would only make accepting what was to come harder on her, not to mention inflate her sense of self-importance so much more.

The rest of Jon’s siblings had been seated with the most distinguished of the Northern Lords, just beneath the raised platform of the High Table. Jon glanced at Arya every once and a while, only to see her scowl up at her sister or squirm in the dress her mother had forced her into. The rest of the Lords around them were pretty much ignoring the children seated next to them to speak amongst themselves, while Bran and Rickon were listening to whatever absurd story Theon was telling them. His little sister looked incredibly bored and he couldn’t say that he envied her; he was only waiting for when her boredom would most certainly brew some kind of disaster.

He was seated next to Smalljon Umber, the Heir to Last Hearth and the three Karstark brothers that had accompanied their father to Winterfell. They were a rowdy bunch, consuming ale with vigor and arguing among themselves loudly about their achievements. Though Jon was fairly certain that none of them had done half of what they claimed they had; it was still amusing though. Dacey Mormont, who had made the trip on her own, along with some guards, in order to represent her House, sat across from him, drinking and swearing just as much as the male Heirs did. Jon knew she was the niece of Jeor Mormont, but he couldn’t make out much on her features to match those of the stern Lord Commander he had met. She was dressed in leathers and carried a mace as a weapon, so of course Vera had liked her instantly, while Lady Stark went out of her way to keep Arya away from her, clearly guessing correctly her younger daughter’s reaction upon meeting the fierce woman.

It was still a pretty distinguished seat he had, Jon knew, among the sons and daughters of the Northern Lords and he knew that if Lady Stark had gotten her way, he’d be way farther down the Great Hall. Vera, however, had been adamant in having him sit with the rest of the family and near her, ever since they came to Winterfell. So when she had accepted that he had to sit farther away, in order not to offend the Crown Prince, Lady Stark had taken the win. Of course, Vera being Vera had presented it as such and as a big acquiescence on her part and not something that they had actually wanted and planned for. She had told him that it was more fun to let Lady Stark think she had won this time; Jon was fairly certain that Vera would miss antagonizing the Stark Matriarch when they finally left Winterfell.

Right on cue, just as Jon casted his eyes out on the rest of the Hall, Jeyne, who was sat with her family and some others at another table, caught his gaze and gestured with her head towards the High Table. Jon turned just in time to see Lady Stark scowling fiercely in Vera’s direction, as the woman laughed along with the Hand of the King. Jon sighed and reached for a lemon cake, raising it towards Jeyne in toast, as she beamed, before biting into it.

“Snow, you really do love those lemon cakes, don’t you?” Harrion Karstark laughed from next to him, as Jon winced as he swallowed the pastry.

“I used to”, he told the man. “I’ve eaten so many lately that I actually hate them now.”

“Maybe just stop eating them, then?” Dacey suggested with a chuckle.

“Oh, if only life was so simple”, Jon sighed dramatically, shaking his head.

He turned around and looked at the table his sister was seated at. She was tugging at the sleeve of her wool grey dress in frustration and didn’t look up to meet his gaze, but to Jon’s delight he happened to catch Theon’s eyes. Just in time to point him towards the High Table, where Lady Stark was still glaring at Vera’s very obvious flirting with Jon Arryn. He could swear he heard the Ironborn’s groan all the way from where he was sitting as the ward huffed and reached for a lemon cake. Jon beamed in accomplishment and turned back to the people at his table, only to see Dacey watch him with narrowed eyes.

“There’s a story there, isn’t there?” the woman asked challengingly.

“There’s a story in everything, my Lady”, Jon grinned, making her snort.

“What’s your story then, Snow?” Smalljon Umber asked him. “How did you come across Hidden Island and that delight of a woman?” 

The boy smiled at the inebriated, burly man, aware that the rest of the Northern guests around him, were listening in with curiosity.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Jon only shrugged, making the man groan.

“Well, you gotta give us something!” Eddard Karstark exclaimed. “Hidden Island used to be the stuff of legends and now here we are feasting with Islanders and their Lady!”

“Is it true that there are cannibals on Hidden Island, just like in Skagos?” Torrhen Karstark, the youngest of the three brothers, asked.

Jon choked on the gulp he had taken of his ale. He threw his head back and laughed at the question, the rest of the table laughing along with him, though they had no way to know exactly what he had found so amusing.

“Maybe at one time”, he finally said, thinking of Valasin’s previous moniker. “Not anymore.”

“Do you think they’re gonna let us travel there too one day?” the Smalljon asked. “I can already hear the songs about the Smalljon, the Conqueror of Hidden Island!” the man mused, staring off at the rest of the Great Hall, dreamily.

“You definitely don’t want to let Lady Vera or any of the Islanders hear this kind of songs,” Jon warned, shaking his head at the man in amusement, knowing he just talked big and didn’t mean any kind of offense towards the Islanders.

“Yeah, Aegon couldn’t conquer them, but the Smalljon… I bet they’re shaking in their boots!” Eddard Karstark mocked, causing his brothers and Dacey to laugh at the Smalljon’s expense, which of course reduced them into yet another argument about their vigor and fighting prowess. 

Jon hadn’t known that these feasts could be so amusing. His companions made for fine company and Jon relished the stories they were telling and their mock arguments. He really hoped that when the truth finally came out, the men around him and their Lord Fathers or in Dacey’s case her Lady Mother, would stand beside him and not against him. For all that he knew now that he was supposed to rule and protect all of the Seven Kingdoms, a part of Jon would always be a Northerner and cherish the land he had grown up in above others.

To be fair though, it wasn’t like he had seen much of the rest of the Kingdoms he was planning on ruling. He frowned at the thought that apart from Hidden Island, he hadn’t really stepped outside the North, yet. They would have to rectify that sometime soon. There were so many places he wanted to see; the Reach and Dorne. Harrenhal, the great castle that Aegon and Balerion had unleashed their fury on and Dragonstone, the seat of his ancestors that now served as the seat of the Usurper’s brother.

Even Joffrey Baratheon had travelled across Westeros, meeting his supposed subjects. Jon glanced at the High Table, once more and at the Prince, who was watching Sansa chattering at him, with apparent disinterest as he slouched in his chair. Perhaps, in that boy’s case, it would have been a more prudent idea for the ones who supported the current regime to keep him hidden away in the Red Keep.

“He seems like a right round prick, doesn’t he?” Dacey whispered conspiratorially to him, leaning forward in her seat as she followed Jon’s eyes to the Prince.

“That’s not any way to speak about our Crown Prince, my Lady,” Jon grinned at her, making the woman huff.

“Perhaps you’re right, Snow,” she shrugged. “But my mother holds the king in low regard, and from what I’ve seen from his son he doesn’t seem much deserving of respect either.”

Jon frowned at the woman’s words. It was the first time he had ever heard a Northerner disparaging the Usurper. Dacey Mormont appeared to have noticed his confusion because she only shrugged.

“My mother always said that Robert Baratheon was a great warrior, but not much of a man,” she said quietly, so that only Jon could hear her words. “She never forgave him for not keeping to his bed during the Rebellion and shaming Lady Lyanna.”

Jon’s eyes widened at the mention of his mother and he gripped his goblet tighter to keep his hands from shaking.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “I thought the king fought in the Rebellion for Lady Lyanna’s honor.”

“Yes, and yet, according to my mother he spent every night in the camps visiting a different whore’s bed,” Lady Dacey drawled in derision. “My mother did not appreciate his behavior. She was a friend of your aunt’s you see. Even named my youngest sister, Lyanna, after her.”

“Oh,” Jon replied dumbly.

 _Not my aunt_ , he wanted to say, but knew he couldn’t. He sighed and stood from his seat, causing the eyes of the rest of the table to fall silent and turn to him.

“Please, excuse me, my Lords, my Lady,” he bowed to them. “I think I’ve drank too much ale and I find myself in need of fresh air,” he said, causing the Smalljon to guffaw and call him green as he walked away from the table and towards the door.

The yard was quiet and empty. Jon took in a breath, welcoming the night air into his lungs. He may have used it as an excuse, but he did feel unsteady on his feet. He must have drunk more ale than he had thought. He brought the ends of his palms to his eyes and rubbed them.

Dacey Mormont’s words added more details, and yet more questions, to what he knew of the Rebellion. He only had pieces of the truth, since no one seemed to know the full story. Yet, he knew that there would be people that would demand answers from him when his parentage ceased being a secret. The Martells, probably. The Faith of the Seven, most assuredly. Both Arthur and Lord Stark agreed that his parents had married and that he was trueborn, but had no further evidence of it. Would he unseat Robert Baratheon, only for the realm to maintain that his Uncle Viserys, if he was alive, had a stronger claim to the throne than him? Would he have to burn his way to the crown, and if he did, how could he then claim to want to save the Seven Kingdoms after burning them to the ground?

He could feel Valasin at the back of his mind and he knew that his dragon had a very straightforward regard for the situation. Yes, his dragon very much wanted to burn everyone that stood in their way into ashes. Jon sometimes found himself agreeing with him, but there was a part of him that did not want to be seen as a usurper himself. He wanted the Seven Kingdoms to follow him because they wanted to, not because he had a dragon and could bully them into submission. And most importantly he wanted answers for himself.

The conversation with his Uncle Benjen and later with Arthur at the Wall, along with what Lady Dacey had just told him, had unsettled him. Was his mother a victim in the whole situation or just a selfish girl that didn’t care who got hurt, as long as she got what she wanted? Lady Dacey seemed to suggest that her mother condemned Robert Baratheon for lying with whores while betrothed and fighting for his mother, but wasn’t his father already married when he ran away with Lyanna Stark? How was that any less horrible?

Jon jolted out of his frustrating thoughts when he felt something rub against his leg. He looked down and smiled upon meeting red glowing eyes staring up at him. He crouched down to stroke his pup’s ears. Jon’s brothers and sisters had their direwolves locked up in the kennels, to keep them away from their guests, but Jon had smuggled Ghost to the Godswood.

“Hey, boy,” he grinned at the silent pup, who nevertheless shook his tail excitedly. “Did you get lured out by the smells of the feast?”

The pup jumped up on his hind legs, placing his front paws on Jon’s lap. The boy smiled at the wolf, some of his anxiety washing away. He was so very glad that Valasin had that feeling and they had found Ghost and the rest of the pups. At least the wolf could ease his frustration, even if he couldn’t help him make sense of the past. He really did need someone to help him make sense of all of this though. Jon could recognize that Vera and Lord Stark had very subjective views of the world and Arthur - for all that he tried to always be there for him - was a warrior and not an advisor. Valasin’s solution for any problem was to burn it down. There were times when Jon needed someone to be objective and straightforward, someone who could see through people and knew how the realm worked. He stood with a sigh, casting his eyes around at the silent battlements, as if someone like that would just materialize out of thin air and start sprouting words of wisdom.   
He sighed in frustration, as he turned back to his wolf.

“Come on, then,” he urged. “I’m sure if you’re quiet enough I can sneak you underneath my table and feed you a whole chicken.”

Jon laughed at his own lame jape, as he and his silent pup left the yard. Maybe someday he’ll find both answers and someone to help make sense of them.

******************

Ned patted the bench invitingly and waited for Jon Arryn to sit next to him. The older man waved Ser Barristan off and the famous knight walked away to guard the entrance to the sacred forest. The last fortnight had passed without any incident and Lord Stark was praying for this to continue.

The only annoyance was Prince Joffrey. The boy acted out of line many times, openly offending some of the Northern Lords and at one point causing the Greatjon to declare loudly that someone should ‘teach the little twat some manners’. It was a tense moment during the royal stay, because it seemed that the Kingslayer was itching to attack the straightforward Lord and Smalljon Umber was only willing to repay any offense towards his father. Ned had to intervene and apologize to the snotty brat on behalf of the North. While he was apologizing he had noticed Jon standing in the yard, with Arya by his side. The siblings were watching his apology and it was clear that both of them were fighting down annoyance and anger. It was safe to say that the only member of his family that Joffrey had endeared himself to was Sansa, and Ned was not certain if his eldest daughter had ever even seen the Prince as anything beyond her fantasies.

Most of Joffrey's snarky comments were directed at the Islanders though and, on more than one occasion, Jon Arryn was forced to apologize to Lady Vera and her people. The Islanders were usually referred to as savages and barbarians, even though it was clear their manners were far better than those of the Crown Prince. The boy had no respect, towards anyone, not even to Lord Arryn or the Commander of his Kingsguard. Ned had heard him mocking both men and calling them old and frail many times. Stupid boy - Jon Arryn was one of the smartest men alive and Ser Barristan Selmy, if he only wished, would be able to defeat any warrior at Winterfell. Well, maybe, aside from their hidden guest closed in the western wing.

“I have no knowledge of your Old Gods, Ned, but this place does seem somewhat ethereal,” the older lord shook his head slowly sitting down under the Weirwood Tree. “Everything here in the North seems to be so fresh and calm. Do you know that my back is better? I suspect this improvement was caused by the change of scenery, and maybe by that strange ointment Lady Vera gave me. Maester Pycelle had no solution for me.”

Ned leaned back more comfortably and looked up at the red leaves of the Tree, inhaling the earthy smell of the woods.

“It has become quite clear to me that the healing on Hidden Island is more advanced than here in Westeros. A few weeks ago one of the smiths cut his fingers off and this woman just stitched it down.”

“Did it rot?” Lord Arryn furrowed his eyebrows.

“No, it didn’t."

The Hand of the King nodded his head slowly, watching the green grass under his feet.

“Perhaps we should take interest in acquiring their knowledge then? Oh, the Maesters would be furious.”

Ned chuckled in answer and they sat for a few minutes in comfortable silence. 

“What do you think about him, Ned?” Jon asked, and Lord Stark flexed his fingers, taking his time to answer.

There was no point asking his foster father who he was referring to. He knew that he had been asked about Prince Joffrey and that he needed to tread carefully.

“He is still young,” he told Jon slowly. “And slightly unrefined. I can see some of Robert’s temper in him and…”

“Oh no, Ned,” the older man interrupted him with a firm head shake. “There is no trace of Robert in that child. He is such a horrible, horrible boy. Cersei turned him into a spoiled, vain and egotistic brat. And he is cruel Ned, he loves tormenting those weaker than him! Animals, servants, even his younger brother and sister! You have no idea, no idea!” The lord took a deep breath and carefully looked around. “Is it safe to say that no one would be able to eavesdrop on us here?”

Ned nodded carefully in confirmation and turned fully to face Lord Arryn, focusing completely on his solemn face.

“What’s wrong, Jon?”

“I...” the older man shook his head sadly and suddenly outstretched his hand, taking hold of Ned’s arm firmly. “You are the only one I know I can trust with this. Ned, I fear…I have held onto hope that I was wrong for so long, but everything just seems to point that way!”

“Jon,” Lord Stark said slowly, trying to calm him down. “You are clearly shaken, what’s wrong?”

“I, along with Lord Stannis, suspect that our King has been betrayed.”

Ned felt the blood leave his face, upon hearing these words come out of his foster father’s mouth. He clasped his hands together to keep them from shaking. But by the Gods, did Jon Arryn know?

“I strongly suspect that none of Robert’s children are truly his.”

And just like that, Ned’s fear was replaced by palpable disbelief and incredulity. He struggled to grasp what had just been said. 

“What?” was all he was able to mutter.

He was genuinely baffled and unable to form a coherent sentence; his face no doubt looked hilarious. His foster father seemed anxious, and yet oddly relieved to have finally shared what had been troubling him. Jon Arryn reached inside the pocket of his doublet to retrieve his handkerchief and proceeded to use it to wipe the sweat that had gathered at his brow, even with the summer chill set around them. Then the older man looked around again and slowly explained his suspicions.

Ned listened in astonishment as the Hand of the King relayed to him how fully Lannister all three of Robert’s supposed children looked, while upon researching it he had never come across a single person with Baratheon ancestry that did not bear the distinct inky curls and blue eyes of their House. Even when married to Targaryens, their Valyrian blood had not overtaken the seed of House Baratheon. Jon had not yet searched for Robert’s bastards, which as he informed Ned with clear exasperation towards the King, were many, but he believed they too would look like Robert and not their mothers. Then even more absurdly the man went on to explain just how strange the Queen’s relationship with her brother seemed to be and that some servants whispered that Ser Jaime had been seen sneaking out from the Queen’s chambers at night. And finally how the dates the Queen had given birth did not add up with the times she had spent with Robert.

Could it be? Ned felt horrible, because instead of trying to comfort Lord Arryn, the only thing he could think about was just how relieved he was. Ned had accepted that Jon would move against Robert and that there was no way to prevent him from it, without losing his son, he had even accepted his role in unseating Robert, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t still feel shame and worry for the man he had once called brother and more importantly for the man’s family too. But as it turned out Robert did not actually have any trueborn heirs. Ned wouldn’t be helping cast down innocent children, but would actually be preventing the Lannisters from seizing complete control of the throne. Ned was also fairly certain that Jon and Lady Vera would be glad to receive this information.

“What are you planning to do?” Ned finally asked and his foster father closed his eyes, almost like he was experiencing some pain.

“I don’t know… For the first time in my life, I have no idea. And lately…” Jon sighed as he rubbed his knees. “I have started to fear that someone has been made aware of my doubts and inquiries! Ned, my dear Ned!” the elderly man took hold of his hands again and squeezed them as strong as he could manage. “I fear for my life! It would be honorable to give Cersei a chance to explain herself but… being honorable to a fault was probably the stupidest lesson I had given you. Honor can be disastrous, Ned!”

Lord Stark took a deep breath and stood up, pacing in front of the Lord Hand. He was thinking hard. He couldn’t reveal Jon’s true identity but he could do something to keep the man that raised him safe, and perhaps to assure the support of the Vale.

“How long are you planning to stay here?”

“Another moon, probably. We don’t want to impose. Afterwards, Prince Joffrey is expected to visit the Vale and the Riverlands, as a part of his…trip to introduce himself to the Lords.”

“It would have been better for the Crown’s reputation if the boy had remained hidden.” Ned murmured, before he could stop himself, but Lord Arryn only nodded in agreement; apparently it was a sentiment shared among many.

“Sometimes, I worry he will be another Mad King. There is evil in him, Ned. Oh, you shouldn’t have offered him your daughter…” Jon Arryn covered his face and Ned looked up at the crystal blue sky, thinking hard.   
He knew he had to speak with Lady Vera and Jon about all of this, but he couldn’t – and truth be told – he didn’t want to endanger Lord Arryn.

“We will come up with something, I promise you that. We will find a solution for all of this.”

Jon Arryn smiled sadly, and staggered on the bench when a sudden thought hit Ned – he was so old, so weak and fragile. Ned owed this man so much. He owed him his understanding of how to rule, and he owed him his life. Jon had taught him how to be honorable and honest; he had shown him how a good father should act. He walked over to the man and kneeled next to him, grasping his knees and took a deep breath, crushed under his guilt.

“Do you remember what you said when the Mad King demanded mine and Robert’s head?”  
The Lord seemed to be taken aback by the sudden change of subject. “I remember, vividly…” Ned smiled gently at the memory. “It was the first time I saw you shouting, angered so much. How you cursed, how you raged! You said no one should dare to threaten your sons.”

Jon Arryn chuckled and rubbed his chin.

“Something had taken control of me, I remember.”

“Your advisors were trying to explain to you that you’d be starting a war and…”

“… and I said you were worth starting a war.”

“Yes…” Ned tried to stop the tears, and stood up embracing Jon tightly and hiding his face in the crook of his neck, and while the man seemed to be surprised, he returned the affection. “That is a father’s duty, isn’t it?”

“Don’t worry Ned. We will think on how to break Sansa’s betrothal,” Jon assured him gently, and Ned bit on his lips trying to quell his guilt.  
Jon couldn’t have known it would not be Sansa over whom he would be starting a war.

* * *

Jaime barely refrained from rolling his eyes while he was dutifully walking after his Prince and the eldest Stark girl. She was a quiet and polite thing but, on a few occasions, she surprised Jaime by asking well-aimed questions. Questions that went completely ignored by Joffrey. For example, at her inquiry about children’s shelters, Joffrey only snorted and informed her haughtily that he didn’t bother himself with such nonsense. The knight sighed heavily when the girl smiled politely and nodded at this answer.

Sometimes, he couldn’t find enough energy to like the boy, but every time he reminded himself who Joffrey was, and felt shame.

They were moving from the Godswood, which Joffrey had described as slovenly woods, and towards the training yard. Sansa perked up pointing out her brother Robb, and Jaime had to admit that the Stark Heir was good for his age, lithe on his feet and controlled. His opponent was better though, it was as clear as a bell that the dark-haired boy was holding back and refraining from disarming the other. The bastard, Jaime realized. A smart boy, knowing to not overpower his legitimate brother in front of their guests.

“Not bad for a Northerner,” Joffrey told his intended derisively, and the knight couldn’t refrain himself from rolling his eyes.

He was speaking about his future good brother! He should have praised the young Stark, instead of offending his future wife’s countrymen. But Sansa Stark was either too deep in love with the prospect of being the Queen, or just too stupid to feel offended.

After their return to King’s Landing, he vowed to himself that he would finally speak with Cersei about the boy, gently suggesting that it would be wise to teach him some manners. It was a dangerous mixture: overconfidence and stupidity. So far, Joffrey had been nestled safely inside the Red Keep surrounded by people too bullied by Cersei, or too lenient to pay him much attention. But Jaime himself had seen what arrogance could do to a ruler and his statute. The Lords of Westeros had already proven once they could and would rebel, and if Joffrey didn’t change he feared about what the future would spell for them. Sometimes, he was even afraid that Robert would die before Joffrey could be shaped into a smart ruler. And the fact that he was worried about the whoring pig told enough about Joffrey’s competence.

He watched absently as the Stark boy tried to hit Snow over his knee and when the bastard blocked the attack with a clever swirl of his sword, Jaime felt himself tense. He was no longer bored; on the contrary, he started watching the bastard with a far bigger interest.

He knew that move. Many years ago, the finest knight in the Seven Kingdoms had shown him that move during one of their spars. And now, the longer he was watching the dark-haired boy, the more familiar movements he could recognize. It was impossible but Jaimie could have sworn that those were Arthur Dayne’s fundamentals, controlled and balanced. He ignored everyone when they started cheering Robb Stark’s victory, because it was just so obviously a false win. The bastard was a far better swordsman and he knew things he had no right to know. Who was his teacher?

“…he would be honored!”

Jaime realized that both Joffrey and Sansa were looking at him and he smiled, trying to hide the fact he wasn’t listening.

“Go on then!” Joffrey raised his eyebrow in that irritating movement of his.

“Beg your pardon, Your Grace?”

The Prince sighed tiredly and turned to him, gently shaking his head.

“Are you deaf, uncle?! Offer Robb Stark a spar. It would bring joy to my intended!”

Jaime couldn’t believe it. Was he now forced to be a source of entertainment? He glanced towards the training yard and realized that Robb Stark was thankfully already moving away, running to his father and Jon Arryn, that were beckoning him closer.

“Perhaps some other time.” Jaime smiled sadly. 

He noticed that the bastard boy was taking care of the weapons, wiping them down and placing them back over the rack. Sadly, Joffrey was already bored and was walking away and Jaime, unable to leave his post, only glanced over at Jon Snow with mistrust. 

* * *

“If Lord Arryn’s suspicions prove right, what can we expect?” Jon asked slowly, weaving his fingers together.

Lord Stark and Lady Vera were seated next to him, in the Lord of Winterfell’s solar.

“Chaos. The Lannisters and the Baratheons would start a war, without any doubt…” Ned admitted slowly. “I would bet on Robert taking another wife for himself and killing both Cersei Lannister and the Kingslayer, or on Stannis declaring himself the rightful heir. Tywin would object of course.”

“Object?” Vera raised her eyebrows in mockery. “I can already say that’s a bit of an understatement. He would be forced to fight, not only for his children and power, but also for his reputation. Can you imagine what would happen to the Lannister name if this gets out?”

Jon snorted.   
“His children fucking each other like some filthy Targaryens…” he said shaking his head, with a smirk upon his face.

“Jon, language!” Ned chastised, and the boy shrugged his shoulders in apology.

The young man sat more comfortably and looked at the ceiling trying to map their potential moves.

“There’s still hope to gain the Vale’s support, but it won’t happen as long as Robert Baratheon is alive. Although, if Robert dies and Tywin Lannister and Stannis Baratheon call their banners and start fighting…would Jon Arryn support Stannis?” Jon asked and turned to Lord Stark.   
The man frowned as he bit his lower lip in thought. 

“Stannis would be the rightful heir...”

“He wouldn’t!” Jon said sharply, probably a bit too sharply because Ned looked at him seriously.

“You know what I mean. In the eyes of many, he would be. I cannot guarantee that House Arryn would support you. I am constantly trying to think of a way to persuade him and to…”

“Kill them,” Vera said out of nowhere and both Jon and Ned looked at her. “Baratheons. Both Stannis and Renly. Let’s send assassins to poison them or arrange an accident.”

“You cannot just…” Ned started outraged, but Jon raised his hand.

“Everyone would suspect me,” Jon murmured deep in thought.

“And?” Vera shrugged nonchalantly. “Would it matter?” the woman snorted with a wave of her hand and started to pace the room slowly. “If we manage to twist this in our favor and blame it on the Lannisters?”

“Stannis is a good man, a great commander. Renly is an innocent kid that…” Lord Stark stood up and Vera paused in front of him. “I cannot allow that! In any way, it would be kinslaying! The Targaryens and the Baratheons share blood!”

“Blood that has never mattered to Robert Baratheon! They are enemies, do not count them as Jon’s kin. They are the obstacle that can threaten his rule and position, nothing beyond that. And, they would die most likely later in a battle! Is there any difference in how they would die? Is poison worse than a sword?”

Jon silenced their argument, as he stood and looked outside the window. Vera’s idea, while it could be considered dishonorable and disgusting by many, was a clever one. It would be wise to take care of Robert Baratheon’s potential heirs beforehand, to assure that the Lords of the Stormlands would have no one to turn to. To make absolutely certain that the Lords of the Narrow Sea would declare for the Targaryen banner, once again; Velaryon, Celtigar, Bar Emmon, Sunglass. These were his bannermen, Lords sworn to Dragonstone and loyal to the Targaryen name; he wouldn’t allow Stannis to sacrifice them in a battle against Tywin Lannister, for a throne that did not belong to either of them.

He could understand Lord Stark’s hesitation though. Poisoning someone was a cowardly act, poisoning someone who had not yet raised arms against him, was despicable. He didn’t wish to start his reign categorized as a dishonorable venomous rat. Stannis will have to go either way. From all that Jon had heard about the man, expecting him to surrender would be futile. The best way to eliminate him would be burning him to a crisp as soon as possible, and Jon intended to do just that. Ned Stark didn’t know it, but Vera’s offer was actually merciful in comparison to what Jon and his dragon would do to take back Dragonstone; Valasin had started reminiscing about the place where he had spent his youth, along with his mother, and Jon knew that soon there would be no stopping the dragon from flying there. But Renly was young, perhaps ambitious. He could be willing to lay down his arms, if they enticed him by the promise of staying as the Lord of Storm’s End. Jon was ready to offer such an alliance. He wasn’t bent on killing a kinsman of his who had no hand in his older brother’s crimes.

“You are poison yourself! How dare you suggest that Jon would not care…”

“I made my decision,” Jon said calmly.

They ignored him altogether, too caught up in their argument to notice him.

“Only a fool like you would not admire the plan that…” Vera was almost hissing.

“Admire? There is nothing to admire, you, you…cruel wench!”

Vera gasped at Ned’s insult and his uncle became red, probably from shame caused by the words he had just spoken out loud. Jon fought down the ill-timed urge to laugh.

“Oh shut up, both of you!” Jon punched the table causing Vera and Lord Stark to jump and turn to him. “I made my decision. We will not use your idea Vera. Not now, at least.”  
He looked at them both as sternly as possible.   
“I have the means to fight Stannis Baratheon and take back my family’s seat, but I trust that Renly would surrender. If he won’t, then…” he said, slowly raising his hand and not finishing his sentence.   
There was no need to.

“And what about Lord Arryn?” Ned asked, rubbing his forehead.

“Oh, I have a splendid idea, but perhaps I should refrain from voicing it. A cruel wench such as myself…”

“Forgive me, Lady Vera, I didn’t…”

“My headache is only growing,” Jon interrupted; it was true, he felt a strange throbbing in the back of his skull. “Speak up and keep it short! I can’t believe I, of all people, have to school you like insolent children!”

They both looked properly chastised by his jibe.

“Lord Arryn can grow impossibly sick. I predict that his condition would make him bedbound for many moons! And I strongly suspect that Prince Joffrey would not be willing to stay at Winterfell for so long,” Vera offered with a small smirk.

“No one would like him to stay,” Jon rolled his eyes.

That little prick was irritating. While the boy was tall, he was as thin as a stick, with no trace of muscle on his frame. Jon had seen him carry around a sword in his belt, but he doubted that the boy knew how to unsheathe it, let alone use it. Despite that Joffrey was acting like the greatest of Stags, or rather Lions, even though Jon was sure that Arya would manage to kick his weak arse with ease. Joffrey was smug, and so dumb, that Jon strongly suspected that his brain was the size of a pea. He heard many conversations where the boy made a fool out of himself, unable to hide his ignorance and lack of knowledge, and at the smallest correction, he grew furious.

Upon the fourth day of the supposed royal visit, Jon had stumbled upon Joffrey yelling at one of the servants and kicking the man while he was on the ground. Jon had almost stepped in, but had caught himself at the last moment. Later, he had found out that the Prince had ordered the man to feed his horse with a whole bucket of raw potatoes. It was just a whim, a stupid and unsubstantiated request. Jon really hoped that someone else had dared to protest the idea; it would be a shame to lose such a beautiful horse.   
There was a cruel strike in the boy. He was drunk on power and uncontrolled, and Jon knew such a combination could be deadly. When the monster had no leash on, it tended to hurt for fun. Look at Valasin’s earlier behavior…

“Take care of this, please. I am leaving for the Wolfswood,” he announced standing up. “I will be gone for a few days. I just need some time alone, away from our charming Prince. Can I hope for you two to behave during my absence?”

Vera and his uncle both scowled at him, but at his raised eyebrows they nodded slowly and Jon exhaled with relief. He could tell that both of them wanted to protest his abrupt dismissal and the fact that he’d spent the next few days in the woods, but he didn’t wait around long enough for them to protest.   
He called Ghost to his side and took his leave. He was happy he could spare some time to take care of his little winged monster. He could feel that his dragon was missing him. 

* * *

Jon felt relaxed and calm after spending two days away from Winterfell and it's annoying guests from King's Landing. He had spent the whole night on Valasin’s back, high beyond the clouds, being so bold that he had even directed him closer to the castle. It had given him an almost giddy feeling, knowing that no one was able to see them; no one knew that a monstrous beast was lazily circling above them all. More than ready to turn anyone and everything into ashes...

He petted Ghost and smiled when he noticed Arya running to him, her direwolf by her side. She was probably eager to train her sword fighting again. It took him a moment to realize that his little sister did not bear her typical smile of excitement upon seeing him. On the contrary, there were tears running down her eyes and she seemed almost panicked.

“What happened?” he asked hurriedly, as he let go of the reins of his horse and knelt to be closer to her.

His sister’s panic was transferring to him and he felt it very keenly right then. Was Arya hurt while he was absent and having fun in the Wolfswood?

“Mycah,” she sobbed, gripping his robes with her tiny hands.

“What?” Jon asked, frowning.

“The butcher’s son!”

“Arya, little sister,” he said slowly, gently rubbing her arms and trying to calm her a bit. “Take a breath and explain. What’s going on? Did this Mycah hurt you?” he asked with anger coloring his voice, already thinking how to crush the small bug who dared to hurt his favorite sibling. 

But his sister only sobbed harder and shook her head, snuggling more into Jon’s arms.

“No! You have to help him, Jon! He did nothing wrong!” Arya insisted, pulling at his arm and trying to drag him towards the castle. “Please, Jon! Father, Mother and Lord Arryn aren’t here! They rode somewhere with Robb and Lady Vera. Please, don’t let them hurt him!”

He almost had to shake Arya for her to calm down enough to explain what had happened. Mycah indeed had done nothing wrong he decided, when he had gathered some more details from Arya’s ragged story.

“They said they would behead him,” the girl was crying her eyes out. “He did nothing, it was me! I wanted to fight with Joffrey!”

 _Of course they want to behead him_ , Jon thought bitterly.

It didn’t matter that fucking Joffrey had been pushed by the boy on accident. It didn’t matter that the attack hadn’t been vicious. Sadly, Prince Joffrey had ended up with a bruise on his royal rear and someone had to be punished. He felt horrible for it, but he was somewhat glad that it wasn’t Arya being punished in some manner. He knew Lord Stark would never allow his daughter to be hurt… but Jon was sure that if such a suggestion had come out of Joffrey’s vile mouth, Jon himself would have killed the arrogant prick on the spot.

 _And then I would command my dragon to burn everyone that had followed the Prince to Winterfell from the Red Keep_ , he realized with dread. It was terrifying how ready he was to do just that.   
_No one should dare to threaten his sister._

“Let’s go. We will try to stall them until Father comes back. They have no right to hold such a punishment without him and Lord Arryn present, anyway,” Jon murmured while Arya was pulling at his hand, almost running to the yard. 

He noticed the gathering of people in the yard and grimaced upon seeing the small, crying boy with his hands tied behind his back. Some chubby man was held tightly by a few guards and was struggling to come closer to the child. Judging by his dirty tunic, it had to be the butcher, Mycah’s father.   
_Fucking animals._  
The Northern soldiers stood tense, and a few of the Lords present were yelling loudly while the Lannisters had created a wall around their Prince and the bound boy, clearly getting ready for a confrontation.

He saw Jory speaking to Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer’s face emotionless and cold, while Jory looked ready to kill, his face red and his mouth trembling in anger. Jon nodded at the Islanders, about ten of them lurking around and watching the scene with shock. He knew that to hurt a child was, for them, an unimaginable crime. He even spotted a lone figure at the back with a helmet on, and he knew that Arthur had left the confines of his room to see what the commotion was about. The presence of his knight gave Jon a sense of safety even amongst the chaos, and it helped to steady him.

“Ser Jaime, Jory!” Jon exclaimed, pushing between a few Northern Lords and barely avoiding being hit by Smalljon Umber and Harrion Karstark, the two men united in their arguing this time and too focused on cursing the Lannisters, to notice his approach.

He stopped next to Jory, knowing very well that in their eyes he was nothing more than some bastard without any authority. But Arya was holding his hand tightly and was weeping, so he had to at least try and save her friend.   
Where the fuck was Lord Stark and Jon Arryn? Even Catelyn Stark would be welcomed now! 

"Arya has informed me about the incident,” he started, carefully glancing towards the sobbing Mycah.

The Hound was holding the boy tightly, not bothered by the child’s pleas. It only reinforced Jon’s belief that the man was probably just as cruel and heartless as his monster of a brother.

“Surely, you will not take any action without Lord Stark and the Lord Hand present?”

He was surprised by how eerily quiet it became after he had asked this soft question. Even the Smalljon had stopped shouting. All men looked at him and he tensed, gripping Arya’s hand tighter.

“The Prince demands justice, and we follow his orders,” Jaime Lannister informed him coldly and yet, something in his eyes shone, looking like apprehension.

Was he now against killing a child all of a sudden? Funny, he did nothing to protect Rhaenys and little Aegon years ago…

“I am sure his orders can be carried on later just the same, when the emotions…”

“Why does some bastard dare protest my judgment?!” Prince Joffrey pushed between the soldiers and walked closer, Ser Meryn Trant by his side.

“I was trying to argue this point as well,” Jory added. “Lord Stark would never allow a child to be sentenced to death in his home!”

The little snotty brat leaned a bit closer and turned his lips into an ugly grimace, pointing a finger at himself.

“I, your future King, have been attacked by this peasant and this wild little bitch!”

Jon had to dig his feet deeper into the ground to stop his body from throwing itself at the fucking Lannister bastard. Jory’s jaw tensed as well and most of the Northerners gasped upon hearing the rude comment about their Lord’s daughter.

“She tried to kill me. I should demand her head as well!”

Even Jaime Lannister seemed to pale at that, and his hand gripped the pommel of his sword hearing the threat. He was right to do so, because the already tense atmosphere was ready to boil over. The Northerners looked ready to bare steel right there in the middle of Winterfell’s yard and Jon noticed with the corner of his eye that the Islanders had moved closer, taking place next to the Northmen and raising their bows. His eyes sought out Arthur’s semi hidden figure, and he could tell that his knight had his hand on his sword as well. This could escalate very quickly, and very badly, Jon knew.

“That’s not true! It was an accident. Sansa, tell them!” Arya screamed, turning to her sister that Jon hadn’t even noticed.

Jon glanced at her and noticed that Sansa was standing next to Jeyne, her eyes firmly on the ground. The redheaded girl didn’t say a word while Jeyne gave him a pleading look.

“You dare threaten Lord Stark’s daughter in his own home?” Lady Dacey Mormont exclaimed in clear outrage that was echoed by the rest of the Northerners.

“The Prince spoke out of turn. He meant nothing wrong by it,” Jaime Lannister said hastily. “He was joking.”

“No, I wasn’t!” Joffrey contradicted him and the knight closed his eyes briefly, almost looking pained. “I have a right to demand it! I am to be your King!”

“Be careful, my prince…” Jon said, feeling that now familiar, horrible, fire raging inside his heart.

He could taste his bond with Valasin. He could take a grip of it and call him closer. Oh, he was so tempted to do just that! But aside from the Lannisters, the yard was filled with his people and his family.

“Some years back Aerys Targaryen demanded the heads of Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon. We all know how that went.”

He couldn’t stop himself from reminding the prick of that, and the shock on his face was a pleasant sight. The yard had gone quiet once more, but the palpable anger on the Northerners’ faces was easy to see. Well, obviously not for Joffrey. Because a second later the irritating boy smirked and pointed a finger at Jon.

“Trant, take him! This bastard will lose his head for speaking up against his superiors!”

Jon released Arya’s hand and took hold of his sword. Fuck it, he decided, if this is how it’s going to go, then so be it! Ghost and Nymeria tensed by his side, still nothing but puppies, but clearly eager to fight and protect their pack. He hadn’t accounted for Arya and her infamous temper though. The little girl almost screamed and stepped forward, towards the Prince.

“Don’t you dare threaten my brother!” she said with a blazing fury that was disproportionate to her tiny body.

It was like time slowed down. Jon saw Arya moving closer to Joffrey and Ser Meryn Trant unsheathing his sword. The only thing that registered in his mind right then was that his little sister stood in the way of a sharp blade. He quickly gripped her robes and pushed her aside, towards Jory, and took a step forward, in front of her. Everything, just to assure she was being shielded completely.

He felt the sting over his face, the sword making a clean cut over his eyelid and cheek. Hot blood sprouted over his skin and searing pain caused him to hiss. The impact made Jon lose his balance slightly and he felt tiny arms embracing his middle. His sister was screaming, calling his name in a panic.

Even before Jon had fully leaned over Arya, he heard the clatter of steel around him and he knew that whatever great plan he used to have, it didn’t matter anymore.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked chapter 13! 😊
> 
> I would like to apologize in advance for the possible delay in posting chapter 14. I will do my best to update it over next weekend (a big part is already finished) but there are a few obstacles in my RL right now.


	14. Don't Play with Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every action has an equal reaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your ongoing support!
> 
> I felt so guilty for leaving you with such a nasty cliffhanger... So, we have worked hard and here you go!
> 
> Big thanks to Onar27 and Wulfkin17 for beta-reading! Onar27 is the co-author of Arthur's POV.

The world had gone silent around him and all he could hear was the blood rushing through his ears and his heart pounding, as he collapsed to the ground. The pain of the blade cutting into his skin had lasted for but a moment, before his senses had been overwhelmed by the dragon’s fury. He knew that Valasin had taken to the air, the moment he had experienced the pain and he could feel him getting closer and closer at a disturbingly fast rate. Try as he might, he could not get the horrible bloodlust flowing through his veins under control. It felt like there was fire in his blood. 

He wanted to kill them all. He needed to kill them all. 

But then, Arya’s tight grip around his middle and her terrified shouting of his name somehow managed to breach the fog covering his mind and slightly cooled the inferno inside him, enough for him to be aware of his surroundings once more. He wasn’t alone with the Lannisters. Here, in Winterfell’s yard were his sisters and his friends. There stood the loyal warriors from Hidden Island and the Northern Lords. He could feel that his dragon was much too angered to pay any attention in distinguishing enemies from allies and opponents from family. The beast wanted blood and he wanted it now and he had no intention to spare innocents. The horrifying image of Winterfell up in flames and his siblings turning into nothing but ash was enough for him to panic and try to get through to the dragon. 

He was screaming in his mind, for the dragon not to come, frantically trying to stop Valasin’s approach. It felt like his mind was being ripped to pieces, his sanity slipping from him and he started shaking as another wave of red hot fury from the dragon, made him feel like he would spontaneously combust in flames himself at any moment. Still, even as he became aware of the blood running down his face, he was screaming in his mind that he was fine, trying to convince Valasin that they’d have their revenge sooner rather than later. 

He could sense the beast’s confusion, his shock that Jon would want to let an offence so great pass by. Yet, he felt the dragon’s anger dissipating just a tiny bit. 

_We will have our revenge_ , he repeated soothingly in his head to the dragon. 

He was sure of that. There would be no stopping Valasin from burning down everything in his path otherwise and even without the dragon’s scorching fury, he had his own anger and he was already formulating a plan in his mind, so that they could deliver the dragon’s justice to them all. He could have allowed Valasin to burn them all at the spot, but then the dragon would be taking many innocent lives in the process. Besides the despicable boy and his pets dressing up as knights, deserved more than a quick death by fire. Valasin finally slowed down, accepting his platitudes and his promise of revenge and the dragon’s control over his mind became less prominent, his presence fading in the shadows in the back of Jon’s mind. 

Jon exhaled in relief as the fire inside him dulled and he tried to slow his heartbeat by focusing all attention on Arya and her strong grip, reminding himself that his little sister was not to be hurt; by no one, and especially not by him. 

He was so proud of himself, of the fact that he was able to control himself and his dragon. 

But he had no power to control the people in the yard. 

In the time, Jon had been literally wrestling with the beast inside him chaos had erupted in the yard of Winterfell. He could hear the commotion and the clatter of steel and the swish of arrows above him. Jon thought he could make out the black arrows of the Islanders, through the blood and tears that covered his face. He tried to scream for them to stop, but he realized that both he and Arya were forced to remain down, the Islanders surrounding him and covering with their shields and consequently trapping both of them to the ground. 

Well, despite the horrific circumstances, Jon had to admit that Arthur had trained the guards very well. 

He turned around, as much as he could and checked on Arya and exhaled with relief upon confirming that while she was frightened and confused, she was not hurt. They were safe there, for now, covered by the shields. But above them, the fight was brewing. 

* * *

Arthur had been a knight for more years than not and most of those years he had been a Kingsguard as well. He knew that even now, after all these years of his supposed demise, his reputation across Westeros was that of a valiant and true knight and an excellent Kingsguard. But Arthur disagreed with those claims. How could a knight be true and valiant and still serve under the Mad King as he had? As for his status as a Kingsguard… Arthur had still not forgiven himself for following Rhaegar’s orders and allowing him to leave him behind, as he rode to the Trident and his doom. For years afterwards, when he had been trapped on Hidden Island, he kept thinking of ‘what ifs’ and whether he would have saved Rhaegar in the Trident, succeeding where Ser Barristan had failed. Even if he hadn’t, Arthur would have fallen with him, his best friend and a man he had been proud to follow, even in death. 

These thoughts had been constant the first few years after the Rebellion and even as they had dulled with time, his resentment and bitterness had not, not until he had met Jon. Even in the moments when the accursed beast he was bonded with, affected the boy’s attitude and mood, Jon was nothing like his mad grandfather, as he had feared could be the case before he had met him. In truth Jon was the better parts of both Rhaegar and Lyanna and more than he could have hoped for. Shielding his back, providing advice and just taking up his place by his side, had given him back a sense of purpose and duty and for once he had found himself not lamenting the fact that he had survived. 

It was for that reason that it had frustrated him that ever since the so-called Crown Prince and his entourage had arrived, he had been forced to leave his King’s side. His frustration was not helped by the fact that he was confined all day in a small room and that Jaime Lannister, a man he had knighted himself and who had betrayed his oath and Ser Barristan, a man he used to look up to and yet hadn’t protected Rhaegar were both in the same castle as him and his King. He had been on edge constantly since their arrival and couldn’t even let out steam in the sparring yard, as he would usually do. So, he spent his days in surveillance of the Winterfell’s yard through the windows in his rooms and the comings and goings of the castle. 

It had been for that reason that he had seen the events between Joffrey Baratheon, the butcher’s boy and his King’s little cousin taking place. He had hesitated at first, but eventually had placed his helmet on, to shield as much of his identity as possible and had rushed to the yard himself, making sure he was further back than the gathered crowd and hidden behind a wall. 

He was glad of his decision, when Jon had arrived on the scene, since he had known from the moment he had seen Arya running towards the stables that there would be trouble. Admittedly, however, he couldn’t have anticipated the Crown Prince’s stupidity in threatening the Stark girl and demanding his King’s head and the chaos that would ensue. He had been too far away to react properly, but thankfully, he had noticed the Islanders present rushing closer to their King and raising their shields around Jon, offering him the necessary cover.

When that disgrace of a White Cloak had raised his sword at Arya, he had left his cover and rushed towards the crowd, but never could he have imagined that Jon would end up getting hurt. Injuries of the head were a serious matter. Thankfully, he could perceive that the sword had barely grazed over Jon’s face but his eye… _If his King lost his eye the man who had wielded the sword would die skewered on his_ , Arthur vowed with vehemence. 

Arthur unsheathed his sword and pushed through some terrified servants, doing his best to reach his King as fast as possible, but a group of five Lannister guards stood in front of him. The men appeared to be stunned by what was taking place in front of them, but upon seeing him they tried to reach for their weapons, yet Arthur just moved past them, hitting carelessly at their legs and necks with the pommel of his sword, quickly disarming them all. They were as green as the grass and it would be a waste of time to engage himself with a fight against them. 

He could see that the Islanders had gathered around Jon and Arya, keeping them on the ground and protecting them from harm with their heavy shields. The man who had hurt his King had fallen to the ground as well, taking Prince Joffrey with him. The arrows that had been intended for the White Cloak that had attacked Jon flew above them and hit a nameless Lannister soldier, unfortunate enough to be standing behind Trant and the Crown Prince. 

Jaime Lannister was just standing with his swords raised, screaming something over at who Arthur recognized as the captain of Winterfell’s guards and at his own soldiers, seemingly trying to stop the fight. The Northern Lords were pushing further, trying to move past the captain of the guards and a few of his men trying to stop them. It was no wonder the Northerners were eager to fight. The Crown Prince had threatened their Lord’s daughter and bastard or not, they thought that Jon was Stark’s son as well and he had been injured. 

But even if the Northerners were somehow tamed by the Stark guards, the five archers from Hidden Island were shooting arrows at the gathering and hitting one Lannister after another. They remained in the back, aiming closer to where Jon lied on the ground, still surrounded by other guards from Hidden Island. It was a wonder that no arrow had hit Jaime Lannister, but Arthur saw that the Hound was standing unsteady, one black arrow peeking from his left shoulder. The men covering his King stood unmoving, keeping their shields firmly over him, as arrows swished next to them, showing complete trust in their countrymen’s abilities. 

He was conflicted. He wanted to run towards Jon, to make sure he hadn’t been hurt too much and stand in front of him and still he knew that if the Islanders were not stopped, they would cause irreversible damage to their plan. His King remained shielded and hidden, protected from harm. Arthur groaned with frustration, every instinct in his body demanding from him to follow his oath and fight for his King. But he knew Jon enough to know what he would expect from him. 

“Lower your bows!” he yelled, but cursed when nothing but a weak hoarse growl left his throat that did not carry to the men from Hidden Island. 

_Fucking Howland Reed and his treacherous blow_.

Arthur grunted in frustration and tried to push closer to the front of the angry Northerners and Islanders. One extremely tall and burly Northerner almost hit him in the face, already filled with the urge to fight but Arthur avoided the blow at the last moment and dodged the fist. It felt like hours had passed, even though it was mere seconds, till he finally reached the Islanders. He took hold of one of the men and repeated his order, but the man pushed his hand away and glared at Arthur furiously. 

“They attacked our King. They shall all die!” 

“Silence, you fool,” Arthur growled in warning, wanting nothing more but to run the young tenacious man through with his sword; he saw Lady Mormont exchange a confused glance with another Northerner and his heart lost a beat. “Put your bows down or I assure you…” he moved closer to the man and whispered as quietly as possible “that our King will personally burn you for this foolishness!” 

He exhaled with relief when the archers tentatively stopped their attack and there were only some Northern Lords stubbornly trying to push closer to the Lannisters.

Well, the Northerners were not his problem.

* * *

“If I understand correctly, your wife is the sister of Lady Stark, my Lord. Tell me, Lord Arryn, is she just as delightful?” Lady Vera questioned his foster father and Ned glanced at Catelyn wanting to groan when his wife glared at the Islander woman with barely contained fury. 

The woman’s voice did not hold any intended insult to it and yet Ned was certain that Catelyn would take it as such. Ever since their first encounter, Ned had been dreading that one of these days the two women would launch at each other and he was afraid of what the vicious woman would do, if his wife took it too far. 

“Oh, hm…" Jon cleared his throat. "I should say that my wife is as dedicated a mother as Catelyn. Yes, even more perhaps."

“Oh, motherly love!” Vera sighed dreamily. 

“You cannot say more about that, can you, Lady Vera?” Cat inquired. “You have not been blessed with a child. Or did I not understand correctly?”

At his wife's words that were definitely meant as an insult, Lady Vera tensed visibly.

“A woman is able to bestow motherly love, even without facing the trial of childbirth.”

“It’s not the same though,” Catelyn continued mercilessly and Robb glanced at Ned with raised eyebrows. 

For his part he had been ready to intervene, but as they approached Winterfell’s outer gates, his attention was drawn to something else. When he saw one of his guards and an Islander running towards them, both men running so fast that they were almost tripping over their own legs, Ned knew that something horrible had happened. 

“My Lord, my Lord…” Alyn spoke trying to catch his breath. “You have to come to the yard.”

“What happened?” Ned asked furrowing his brow. 

He let go of Catelyn’s arm and moved past Vera and Jon Arryn, with Robb dutifully stepping right behind him. It appeared like their walk had reached its earlier end. 

“Prince Joffrey ordered for the butcher’s son to be executed.”

“He did what?” Jon Arryn exclaimed and walked closer, leaving Lady Vera behind. 

“I…” Alyn faltered and looked around, not knowing how to react to being questioned by the Hand of the King. "Well, they are all ready to go for each other's throats, my Lord. The Lannisters and our people and even those from the Island…”

“Lady Vera,” the Islander spoke with urgency “his… Jon came back from the Wolfswood. I fear that he might not like the way Lady Arya had been treated.” 

The man was still speaking when Lady Vera cursed softly and all but pushed Ned aside. 

“By the Gods!” she hissed and he looked at her, shocked by how horribly pale she had grown in mere seconds. “He will snap!” 

Ned stood frozen as she took off running towards the castle, leaving them all behind without a word of explanation. He looked at Robb nodding his order and his son was soon running after the woman, catching up with her quickly. Ned was somehow impressed by how swiftly she could move with her flaring skirts.

“Lord Arryn…” he started.

“Go after them Ned. Ser Barristan, you too! Go, stop this madness! Catelyn and I will walk as fast my weak body allows.”

“Could it be so bad?” Selmy asked, as they moved towards the gates, trying to catch up with the younger men. 

Ned thought about the way Joffrey had been acting, of how terribly the Northern Lords had been offended. He finally thought about Jon and how quick his temper could sometimes be.

“We’ll see,” Ned only murmured, expecting the worst.

But when they reached the yard and Ned saw the scene taking place… his worst assumptions could not possibly match up to reality. He let out an involuntary scream when he got there just in time to see Ser Meryn Trant slashing his sword across Jon’s face. His son lost his balance and fell back, into Arya’s arms and almost at the same time, every Northern man unsheathed his sword, while Arya cried out, her terrified tone haunting. The Lannisters unsheathed their weapons as well and his daughter was calling Jon’s name with so much pain and fear that Ned felt his heart being ripped to pieces. 

Chaos ensued in the blink of an eye. 

The Islanders had drawn their bows with their arrows pointed at the Kingsguard and Prince Joffrey and Ned knew that they would shoot. 

And they did. 

Meryn Trant was able to take Prince Joffrey with him to the ground and avoided being hit but the soldier standing behind him wasn’t so lucky. Ned watched in awe, as five men from Hidden Island quickly created a wall around Jon and Arya, covering them with their black shields. With the corner of his eye, he could see a man wearing a helmet rushing between the Lannister soldiers, easily taking down five Lannisters men on his way and Ned groaned. 

_Bloody Arthur Dayne_. It had to be him; no one else looked like a dancer while fighting. The man didn’t rush towards Jon though and instead moved over to the Islanders, stopping them from killing more men. 

“Put it down! All of you!” 

It was Lady Vera’s order that reached them first, however and her people turned her way, seemingly surprised by the sight of her. 

“Lower your weapons!” Robb bellowed and Ned repeated the order, seeing his soldiers and the Northerners hesitating, as they eyed the Lannisters warily. 

At least they stopped trying to break through his guards and reach the Lannisters. 

“Do as the Warden of the North says! In the name of your King!” Ned heard and looked back, seeing Jon Arryn approaching, with Catelyn by his side. “Immediately!”

The older man was breathing heavily, trying to catch a breath and leaning on Ned’s wife for support. The jog had clearly tired him greatly.

With a command from the Hand of the King, the Lannisters started to relax one by one and they lowered their weapons. 

Lady Vera was already running to Jon, the guards swiftly opening their shields to grant her entrance. The woman knelt next to his children and Ned felt his heart beat furiously, as he and Robb moved after her and he saw his son’s face covered in blood, a nasty cut running across his eye. 

Lady Vera stared at Jon for a few moments and then turned back at her people and Ned froze when upon that silent communication, her guards raised their bows again. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Jon suddenly murmured trying to stand up, while leaning over Arya who was still crying and holding his middle tightly. “We ought not to lose one more arrow to our _beloved Prince_.”

By the Gods, the venom and the disgust in Jon's tone was so clear that he very well could have called Joffrey Baratheon a cunt. Lady Vera gritted her teeth at that, but glanced at her people, clearly confirming his order. The grim-looking Islanders lowered their bows again but were still watching the Prince and his guards with hatred. Ned pushed passed them and reached Jon, just as his son rose to his feet. 

"Are you well?" Ned asked placing a hand on Jon's shoulder, but his arm was pushed away by Lady Vera, the small woman looking so furious that he almost took a step back.

“Well? Does this look well to you?!” she all but yelled, as she turned back to Jon Arryn. "Is this a common behavior on Westerosi lands?! A Guest…” she pointed at Trant, who was currently trying to haul the dazed Joffrey to his feet “attacking the son of their host?” 

She was almost completely embracing Jon with her arms, protectively keeping his head in her hands. It was a touching gesture, Ned thought. Motherly, without any doubt. If Lyanna had been alive, Meryn Trant would have ended up beaten mercilessly for hurting her son, Ned knew. Robb had followed him and was now trying to talk Arya into letting go of their bleeding brother, but his efforts seemed to be futile. His youngest daughter seemed to be in great shock still crying and calling Jon's name. Meanwhile, Jon kept his head lowered, his arms loose, and his breath shallow. He was either in enormous pain or just like Arya, in shock. And yet, his fists were balled hard and he looked like someone who had to stop himself from acting violently. His fury…it gave Ned an almost bitter, iron-like taste. Or maybe it was just the blood smeared on Jon’s face? 

Lady Vera leaned closer to his son and started to whisper something to his ear hurriedly and the boy slowly nodded his head. Ned tensed when Arthur Dayne walked closer - thankfully still keeping his face covered - and helped steady his son on his feet. 

"What has taken place here?" the Hand of the Kind demanded, in a quiet voice that Ned had heard many times. 

Usually, though, that disappointed and wounded tone was directed at Robert. 

“It was a misunderstanding, Lord Hand,” the Kingslayer answered smoothly. 

"It wasn't a misunderstanding!" Prince Joffrey bellowed, his green eyes almost wild, while his gaze danced between the Northerners. “I was attacked!”

“Truly?” Arryn asked, coming closer to the boy and looking at him from above. “How so?” 

“I…” the boy hesitated. “This peasant and this…” he looked briefly at Arya and something in his eyes became slightly more coherent “girl attacked me when I was taking a walk.” 

“Where was your guard?” Arryn almost hissed and Joffrey glanced at Meryn Trant setting his lips in a thin line. 

“It’s irrelevant.” 

“It’s a lie!” Arya argued from behind Jon, seemingly coming back to herself upon hearing the boy speak. “I was practicing my sword fighting with Mycah and he…" she pointed an accusing finger at Joffrey, "said he can beat us both! So we sparred and Mycah just pushed him and he fell. But it was just a spar! Robb and Jon push each other all the time when they are sparring!”

Jon Arryn closed his eyes briefly and took a calming breath. 

“Is that true, Joffrey?” 

The fact that he used the boy’s given name and not his title gave the whole situation a completely different overtone. 

“You would not dare to put the word of some b…” the boy started but Jon surged forward all of a sudden, barely contained by Dayne and Robb, who jumped closer to his brother in the last moment. 

“Call my sister a bitch one more time and see what happens!" Jon snarled in a voice that sounded strange, hollow, and almost inhuman. 

Lady Vera, who had been wiping Jon’s face with her handkerchief, looked disturbed upon his son’s words for some reason. 

“What?!” Arryn almost yelled turning to Joffrey and the boy seemed to wilt under the man’s indignation.

“That’s not all!” Jon exclaimed in a voice shaking with barely contained fury. 

Ned saw Vera raising her gaze towards the sky and he could vaguely remember Arthur Dayne doing the same when they were arguing in the Godswood. Was Jon’s wrath so horrible that his people had to search for the Gods' assistance?

"He threatened to take my sister’s head!" 

Robb loosened his hold on his brother, upon hearing that and took a step forward. 

“How dare you?!” his eldest son growled and the Northerners around them once again raised their voices, confirming Jon’s claim. 

“And Jon’s…” Arya added very quietly, but her words were drowned in the commotion. 

“Aye,” Jon impatiently swiped at the blood pouring over his mouth. “And mine after I politely reminded them all that threats like that would not be taken lightly by the North.” 

The yard filled with the angry exclamations of the Northerners and even the usually stoic Islanders seemed to be shouting their confirmation of the events. Ned felt a strange calmness take hold. 

“Is this true?” he asked and even to his own ears, his voice sounded eerie and daring. 

Lord Arryn raised his hand, clearly aiming to calm him down, but Ned moved closer to Prince Joffrey and stopped only when Jaime Lannister half unsheathed his sword. 

“Ned, calm down,” his guardian spoke softly, but he only shook his head stubbornly. 

He was not certain what Jon would think later, he was not certain if what he was about to do was smart, but he knew it was the right thing to do. 

“I have welcomed the son of my dearest friend in my home. For days I have been allowing the scorns and the rude remarks that Prince Joffrey has been bestowing upon me and my people to pass. Now, I found he believes himself in the authority to pass a sentence like that, planning to kill a child under my roof? Why, to scorn my Gods? He also threatens my daughter and my son? What next? Will he demand my head for lecturing him? Shall I bow to his whims and barked orders because he is to be the King one day? Shall I show respect towards a child that holds no respect towards anyone and anything?”

He could see that Lord Arryn had widened his eyes and Jaime Lannister had tensed visibly. The yard had grown impossibly quiet, but the support of his people was palpable. Prince Joffrey’s eyes moved to his uncle and back to the Lord Hand but the boy remained quiet. Honestly, Ned was almost sure that the little brat was too stupid to understand the implications of his speech. 

“I have fought arm in arm with your father, boy! I helped put him on the Throne that is to be yours one day. I can tell that if your behavior won’t change, your rule would be gruesome for all of the Seven Kingdoms. I shall pray every day that the Gods bestow some wisdom and grace upon you. I have lost my father and brother to the Mad King’s whims! The North remembers.” 

Some people inhaled loudly hearing his harsh words, but Lord Stark only turned to Jon Arryn and straightened his back. 

"Your visit was a great honor, my Lord. Sadly, I believe it is time for Prince Joffrey to bestow his…” he snarled “graceful presence upon other kingdoms.”

“Ned…” Lord Arryn exhaled loudly pailing horribly. “I apolo…”

“You have been apologizing for far too many times during the last couple of days, Lord Hand, while it was not you who ought to do so. It's Prince Joffrey who should have apologized. I know he will not, however. This boy is obviously incapable of admitting to his mistakes.”

“Are you throwing me out?” Joffrey finally sputtered, almost shaking with anger. “Those barbarians…” he pointed a shaking finger at one of the Islanders standing nearby “have killed many of my people and you are scolding me?! I demand to have them all executed! Them and these fifthly Northerners who dared raise their swords at…”

“Shut up, you stupid boy!” Jon Arryn all but yelled, making people skip and the older man exhaled and lowered his gaze, trying to calm himself down. “Prince Joffrey is clearly very shaken. Perhaps if he spends more time with his intended…”

“Prince Joffrey shall not be given such a chance. I am sure that my dear Robert would understand my decision to break off this arrangement.”

Ned heard a soft wail from the side and as he glanced there, he saw Sansa throwing herself in her mother’s arms. Joffrey Baratheon looked like a fish thrown on the sand from the river. He was closing and opening his mouth, growing redder and redder with every passing second. 

Ned could see Vera looking at him with her face closed in shock. Without any doubt, her thoughts were focused on the fact that he was endangering her plan. But his gaze paused on Jon and he almost smiled with pride seeing his son standing with his head raised, with Robb and Arya holding him tightly. Jon looked at Ned and nodded his head only just, almost unnoticeably, but Lord Stark knew it was a gesture of approval. 

“You are dismissed! Take care of your duties!” he ordered looking around and the Northerners dispersed hesitantly. 

They had heard his order but without a doubt wanted to listen to more of his argument with the royal guests. The Islanders ignored him completely, still gathered as they were around Jon and Lady Vera. 

"Forgive me, Lord Hand," Ned spoke coldly. "My son needs help and my daughter is clearly shaken." 

He glared at Prince Joffrey one more time, seeing with satisfaction that the boy had paled a bit, no doubt finally realizing what had really taken place. And realizing just how furious Robert Baratheon, his supposed father, would be. 

With that he called upon the members of his family present and turned his back to the Lannisters, knowing very well that he had probably just started the war all on his own. 

* * *

As they entered the infirmary, both Lady Vera and Maester Luwin got into taking care of Jon. The problem was that Arya refused to be removed from his side, even as Robb tried to yank her away, once more. Ned could understand her worry; something seemed to be terribly wrong with his son. 

Jon’s gaze was absent; he was unmoving and silent, sitting with his head lowered. Drops of blood were hitting the floor painting it red, while his direwolf that had followed them inside was nudging his leg, rubbing his white head over his calf. 

"Don't worry, Arya…" Lady Vera was trying to soothe the girl. "Jon just follows my teachings, it is… he has focused on a very special place in his mind. Let go of him, so I can tend to his wound.”

Ned helped Robb pry Arya from her brother and hugged the crying girl. 

“This is all your fault!” 

Ned turned towards the voice of his eldest daughter and realized that he had almost forgotten about Sansa and her mother following them to the infirmary. He wondered where his younger boys were, since they hadn’t been at the yard; that had at least been a relief, he definitely did not want to imagine Bran or Rickon anywhere near the mess that had just taken place. 

“You have ruined everything!” Sansa continued, pointing an accusing finger at Arya, as tears fell on her cheeks that had turned almost as red as her hair. 

The younger girl moved away from his arms and walked closer to Sansa. 

"Why didn't you say the truth?! Joffrey is horrible! Why didn't you tell them how it happened? You saw everything!"

“Lord Stark…” Lady Vera said with a stern voice as she stood up and looked coldly at them all. “Please, remove your spoiled daughters from the room, I have to take care of Jon. They have caused enough disaster already!”

“Don’t you dare speak about my children in such a manner," Catelyn decided to add taking a step closer and standing in front of Jon. “The bastard caused all the trouble! It was him and all your savage soldiers! They killed seven of the Lannister guards! Do you understand what you have done?!”

“Are you really so stupid?!” Vera snarled and the way she moved towards Catelyn indicated that she intended to hit the other woman. 

Both Robb and Ned moved quickly to separate them but before they did so, Jon bent over on the chair and emptied his stomach on the floor. 

Lady Vera and Catelyn moved away, sadly, not fast enough to avoid getting splattered with vomit. Arya and Robb made a strangled noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort while Sansa screamed in horror. 

“Is he so sick?” Ned asked with worry and moved closer to his son, relieved when he noticed that Jon’s only visible eye was normal again, not empty but filled once again with anger. 

Arthur Dayne was positioned right behind Jon’s back, holding him strongly from his middle and his hand traveled to the pommel of his sword when Ned tried to approach them. 

“I’m sorry, I went too deep. It’s smoke and flesh…” Jon murmured and his head wobbled, trying to shake off some kind of unsteadiness. 

Ned grunted with frustration when Jon turned his head and nestled it in Dayne’s shoulder, the knight offering his son the comfort that he should receive from his family. 

“Out, please! I have to tend to his injury!” Vera urged them and Ned allowed her to almost push him outside, his eyes fixed on his son, until the door slammed on his face. 

* * *

The last time she had felt so helpless was when Adam had stopped her from helping Jon. Just like back then, she could feel her heart filling with dread and anger. The wound didn’t look too bad, after the Maester had cleaned it with wine and vinegar. The old, bald man had then left to demand for a patch to be made from the castle’s seamstress; Vera could admit that the man knew his way around an injury. The tip of the sword had barely grazed Jon’s skin, thankfully. His eye wasn't damaged and all that would be left will be a small scar, not nearly enough to blemish the boy’s beautiful face. 

It was his mind she was worried about the most at the moment. After his outburst of anger in the yard, Jon had suddenly disappeared. She and Robb Stark were holding his body, leading him to the castle but she knew that there was no Jon inside. Truthfully, she had expected to die in the yard, just waiting for the dragon to fly closer and destroy them all in an animal-like mindless fury, as Jon threw himself at Joffrey. Nothing like that had taken place though. 

“My dear…” she whispered softly looking at her work, the bandages covering half of Jon’s face. “How are you?”

“It hurts a bit,” he informed her in a monotone voice, looking at her with no emotion. 

“I will give you something for the pain. How are you otherwise?” Vera probed gently. 

“I just killed some people,” Jon murmured looking down and she felt her heart lose a beat. 

“How so?” she asked very gently, slowly massaging his shoulders and searching his face for more answers. 

“Valasin’s fury; it was unlike anything I had ever felt before from the dragon. He took to the air and I knew he would burn Winterfell and everyone in it to the ground. For a few moments I couldn’t control his bloodlust enough to prevent him from it, but I…I managed eventually," he explained in a tone full of childlike hope. "I did well, didn’t I? But then this accursed prick had to open his mouth and again I…I was so angry and I wanted nothing more but to kill him…Valasin was turning back, so I directed him away from Winterfell but…" Jon's shoulders lowered and his whole posture lost the confidence. “He found a small gathering of people at the mountains not far from here. I’m sorry that it happened. He will… he will always do whatever he pleases! I will never be able to change him.”

“Oh, Jon…” Vera exhaled and sat next to him, embracing him gently and placing a kiss at the crown of his head. “I cannot imagine how hard that was. You just… had to make a decision. It was a hard one but a mature one. This beast will always want to burn everything down, much more when you have been hurt. He has changed though Jon, you have changed him. And you did not lose control! It will get better with time. If the dragon had flown to the yard, he would have killed everyone, not only the Lannisters. I know it is hard but…”

“They will die too. The Lannisters and Joffrey, his Kingsguard,” Jon interrupted her a bit harshly and moved away standing up. 

She watched him silently as he paced the floor like a caged animal. She briefly glanced at Arthur. The knight appeared to be almost just as infuriated as Jon. 

“Forgive me, my King. I should have been closer to you. But I swear to you that they will…” Dayne started. 

“… pay. Aye. Yes, they will,” Jon assured quietly and Vera gulped hearing the cold fury in his tone. 

Somehow, this controlled anger struck her as worse than him raging and screaming mindlessly. 

“I have to remind you about our plan. Ned Stark basically announced that the betrothal between Sansa and Joffrey is broken. If the Tyrells find out before they agree…” she started slowly.

“Fuck the Tyrells and fuck your plan!” 

She jumped involuntarily when Jon rounded on her raising his voice. She was wrong; she’d rather the controlled anger from this blazing fury. Vera looked briefly at Arthur but realized that he would not be of any help. He was as eager for revenge as their King. She couldn’t exactly blame him, though. She too had almost ordered her men to continue with their assault, upon seeing Jon’s blood smeared face; she couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for the knight that had dedicated his life to protecting Jon, to see the boy get hurt right in front of his eyes. 

“I have a plan of my own now,” Jon informed and leaned over the table looking her straight in the eyes. 

“What’s the plan then, my King?” she asked, trying to stop her voice from trembling. 

She was angry at herself, at Jon and Arya. And the dragon; she was angry at the dragon, as well. She observed Jon expecting him to just declare for bloodshed. Fire and blood and gore. 

But to her surprise, he weaved his fingers together and pressed his fists to his mouth. Jon was quiet for a moment but when he started to lay down his suggestion, Vera was once again forced to change her mind.

She’d rather preferred mindless fury than this cold calculative energy. Because Jon, driven by revenge and yet able to plan, was on the verge of actually scaring her. 

* * *

The days following the incident were awkward and tiring and all around horrible. Joffrey’s reckless and stupid actions could have just cost the Crown the North’s support. Jaime was glad that they were leaving but parting under such circumstances didn’t bode well for him and Joffrey. He knew how much the drunken whoremonger of a King valued his childhood friend and Jon Arryn, and Jaime was sure that the blame would be placed solely on Joffrey. 

Rightfully so, sadly. 

He nodded at all of his soldiers that stood at Winterfell's yard and ordered them to lose the array. 

“Do you always count them like that?” he heard and turned around frowning when he noticed Jon Snow standing behind him. 

The fact that the boy was able to somehow sneak up on him like that was somewhat offensive. Jaime looked the boy over and settled his gaze at the white direwolf who watched him back with unmoving red eyes. The creature was bloody unsettling. 

“Your soldiers, Ser Jaime?” the boy kept inquiring. 

He cleared his throat and nodded once.

“They gather in one place, once a day and I order them to sound off. It allows me to make sure that none of my people… wandered somewhere." 

“You mean deserting by that, don’t you?” Snow asked in his emotionless voice and the blonde man nodded again. “Very useful,” the boy added, turning his good, uncovered by bandages eye, back to his people.

“How’s your eye?” Jaime found himself asking and the bastard seemed to be a bit surprised hearing the question. 

He raised his hand and touched the patch covering his eye, with a barely there wince.

“It’s fine. Lady Vera insists on me wearing the cover though. Just in case, for a few more days. She is very protective, she would have gladly kept me in my room constantly but as you know, she has a more urgent matter to attend to right now."

“Yes,” Jaime sighed heavily. “I hope Lord Arryn will be fine.”

The day after that horrible incident with Stark's children, Jon Arryn grew sick. The man was unable to get out of bed in the morning, claiming that his chest feels heavy. Winterfell’s Maester judged that the old Lord might suffer from a disease of the heart and that his state wouldn’t allow him to travel anytime soon. Jaime had been ready to pull his hair out, upon hearing that. He had feared they would be forced to stay at Winterfell till the old man would either get better or pass away. But again, Joffrey had different ideas. 

The Prince had informed them he wasn’t staying at Winterfell a day longer than necessary and that Jon Arryn’s presence on the road wasn’t required. Joffrey had even generously offered that Ser Barristan Selmy could stay with the Hand of the King. To quote his exact words ‘two old men would be nothing but an obstacle during the journey’. 

Lord Arryn had tried to argue that particular point but again it had been Ned Stark who had convinced the Lord Hand to rest as long as necessary. Stark had announced that Jon Arryn was welcomed to stay at Winterfell as long as necessary. It went without saying that not every guest from King’s Landing was equally welcomed. 

So, a week later Jaime was ready to march away, dreading what would await them when they stopped at the Vale and the Riverlands without Jon Arryn. He was hoping that Joffrey would change his mind and order them to travel straight to King’s Landing but he knew the boy well enough to understand that such an action would be like admitting a defeat. Joffrey was sure Jon Arryn was expandable. Jaime had grown more and more concerned about the boy’s attitude and his moods and just what they could one day lead to, if Joffrey was left unchecked. Rhaegar had been loved by the realm and still the Kingdoms had risen up against him. Joffrey didn’t have such support, so what did the future hold for him? 

“I shall pray for him to feel better soon. Also, I would like to apologize for the events that took place last week. You were in a rather unfortunate position, Ser Jaime,” Jon Snow said, causing Jaime to refocus upon the boy. 

The bastard’s words made him tense. They were polite and controlled and yet, the one visible eye was shining with something more ominous and unpleasant. The boy wasn’t honest and his well-mannered posture was nothing beyond an act. It irked Jaime the wrong way. That child was full of surprises that he felt a need to reveal. 

“You caused it though, didn’t you? Did you think yourself good enough to face a Kingsguard? Well, I have seen you training with Robb Stark. You fight well for a bastard,” he spoke simply, watching for any reaction caused by that insult. 

Sadly, there was none. Jon Snow only smiled softly and shrugged. 

“Thank you. You are too kind, Ser Jaime. For a mere bastard like me, to hear such praise from the best warrior in Westeros is a great honor.” 

_This little shit,_ Jaime thought with growing anger. He just chose to interpret his words like Jaime had praised him! Something in this boy was wrong and he couldn’t shrug off the feeling that this bastard was mocking him, laughing at him somehow. Jon Snow was no one and yet, right now Jaime felt at a disadvantage facing him. He was a Lannister. It was not a feeling he was used to experiencing, especially not with some green, bastard boy. 

He looked the young man over, having his skills fresh in mind. 

“Have you swung it yet?” Jaime asked pointing with his chin at the sword on Jon Snow’s hip. 

The boy looked down and smirked.

“Of course I have,” he answered with assurance. 

“At someone I mean,” Jaime clarified with a slight annoyance. 

Jon Snow tilted his head in a strange manner, making a jerking gesture with his neck. He looked like a lizard looking around for a fly. 

"Of course I have," Jon repeated, raising his eyebrows. 

Jaime looked over at the strange boy once again, this time with a furrowed brow. He seemed unbothered, cold, and relaxed. Young men usually got a bit skittish talking about their victims. Unless they were cruel or mad. Jaime wondered if Jon Snow was that. A cruel and brutal man hiding under the polite façade of smiles and indifference. 

“It’s a strange thing, to cut a man. Don’t you agree?” Jaime probed further. “We’re nothing but sacks of meat and blood and some bone to keep it all standing.”

At his words, Jon Snow smiled with an expression so beautiful and so horribly in contrast with their conversation that Jaime felt truly perturbed. The young man’s face changed and Jaime had to admit he was a comely boy, no doubt able to charm others. And his smile was strangely familiar. Jaime was almost sure he had seen someone smile in such a carefree way with an expression so honest and sweet that was able to win people over. It almost reminded him…

“True words, Ser Jaime. I have a friend who would have added that we are nothing but bugs; so easily crushed and weak. Nothing but meat indeed.”

Annoyed that the conversation drifted in the wrong way, Jaime smiled tersely. He was losing his mind probably, turning his thoughts towards a past long gone and one that should be forgotten. 

“I have noticed your fighting style is rather peculiar… Who was your teacher?” the knight asked observing Snow’s face attentively.

He expected some reaction at the change of subject but the boy only frowned.

“I have many teachers.”

“Many?”

“Yes,” Jon shrugged. 

Jaime glanced at the rack filled with training swords and at his soldiers preparing to march. He knew he shouldn't. He was a Kingsguard and the boy was nothing but a bastard. Offering him a spar would be strange and too big of an honor for the boy. But the way he was fighting…

He smiled like Rhaegar, he was fighting like Arthur. Had the ghosts of the past chosen the Bastard of Winterfell to taunt him?

“I would gladly see what you are capable of,” Jaime finally drawled, nodding to the training yard. 

“Again, you honor me greatly but I am unfit to train,” Jon Snow declined lightly, the mere fact he did so, unbelievable and offending. “Lady Vera forbade me. I will forever regret my refusal but she is too scary to anger her,” the boy explained seeing Jaime’s stormy expression, as he pointed at his eye patch and smiled sadly.

Jaime tightened his lips and nodded tersely. It was for the best, he was acting like a fool. 

“We should probably not endanger your health,” he almost growled and Jon Snow sighed loudly in confirmation but despite his saddened expression, Jaime was sure the little arse wanted to smirk. 

“But you have to know, I am grateful, Ser Jaime,” the boy told him, his voice almost sounding sincere, as he took a step closer, outstretching his hand; Jaime looked at his offered palm and slowly took it. “I am grateful you are sacrificing your life to keep our Crown Prince safe. The whole royal family! They are all lucky that a man so honorable, so brave and good like you is ready to give up his life to guard them.”

Jaime tried to yank his hand away but Snow was holding it in an almost crushing grip, his only visible eye growing angrier with every passing second. He was ready to put this strange, insolent boy in his place when suddenly a feminine voice called for the bastard and Jon Snow let go of his hand quickly. 

“Jon, my dear, you should be resting,” Lady Vera walked over, three Islander guards surrounding her.

She was smiling at them but her eyes remained cold and expressionless. Jaime had to admit that for all her charming nature, when they had arrived, the woman’s clipped tone was chilling. 

“You know, there’s a very tiring and demanding task ahead of you,” the woman reminded the boy softly and Jaime thought she sounded like Cersei, when she was trying to softly scold Joffrey for kicking his younger brother. 

“You are right. I apologize for taking your time, Ser Jaime,” Jon Snow smiled again at him, his previously murderous expression disappearing completely. “I hope the roads ahead will be safe.” 

The bastard bowed to him respectfully and called his white pup, the animal instantly taking its place at his master’s feet. Jaime stared after the boy, trying to stop his accelerated heartbeat. He had always trusted his instincts and said instincts were telling him that something was terribly wrong. 

“Don’t be scared,” he heard and glanced at Lady Vera, the strange Islander watching him with a nasty smirk. “I am sure the road will be kind to you. I wish you good fortune in the wars to come.”

She chose to laugh at him for some reason and moved after the bastard, leaving Jaime fuming and confused. He wanted to leave this accursed cold shithole as soon as possible. 

* * *

“It wasn’t wise to taunt him like that,” Vera scolded him softly when they were walking to her chambers. 

"But enjoyable," Jon answered feeling an unhealthy amount of malice taking over him. 

During the last couple of days, he had been constantly on edge, the excitement in him making his skin tingle. _A few more days_ , he kept promising both to himself and to Valasin. _A few more days._

“I will take care of Arya today, you have to meet with our friend and discuss the plan. It is paramount for both of you to be precise and quick. I have prepared a list of things you should pay attention to,” Vera continued and Jon nodded absently.

His great plan that Vera was hell bent on trying to refine. He should have probably paid more attention to her alterations but his mind was too busy. And he was so bloody tired. 

For the last couple of days, Arya had been glued to him constantly, to the point that she insisted upon sleeping with him in the same bed. Jon endured it patiently, even though Arya was talking in her sleep and kicking her legs. 

The fact didn't bode well with Lord Stark, with Vera, and especially with Lady Stark. 

But the fact that Arya had been convinced that Jon was dying in her arms, had changed something in his brave sister, turning her into a scared and timid thing. He allowed her to spend as much time with him as she desired, doing everything to show her he was fine and he didn’t blame her for anything.

But everyone else did. Sansa was clear in her disdain and at the rare times she approached Arya, she caused her younger sister to either burst into tears or initiated a temper tantrum. Lady Stark had forbidden her sword fighting lessons and Lord Stark had agreed with her. Nevertheless, Jon had assured Arya softly that very soon it would not matter. He had vowed to arrange as many fighting lessons for her as she wished. Surprisingly, Arthur and Vera didn't approve of his regard in that matter. 

According to Vera, he had to watch himself not to spoil his sister beyond reason. She had informed him that they already had one spoiled brat thinking himself privileged enough to do whatever she wished. 

Arthur had tried joking about it, saying that his King’s attitude towards his youngest sister didn’t bode well for his role as a Kingsguard to his future children. 

“You will be as protective towards them as a dragon nestling its eggs. Also, I fear your Kingsguard will be forced to learn how to braid hair to please little princes and princesses!” the knight had laughed but neither Jon nor Vera had joined in.

Jon, because he saw no error in his overprotective and caring nature towards his beloved sister and Vera, because she was probably worried that her King would one day turn into a bloody mother hen with a dragon at his disposal. 

“I hope you listened to me, Jon,” Vera murmured when he looked at the sky, at the white clouds running across the sky.

“Every word. Send Arthur to me. I need him to prepare my armor and my sword.”

“Your armor?”

“Of course Vera,” Jon told her with raised eyebrows. “I cannot head into my first battle without armor.”

* * *

Jaime looked at the assembled group of his soldiers, waiting for them to stop counting their numbers. No one miraculously had gone missing on the road but he expected nothing else. The Lannister soldiers were the most disciplined and the most loyal in the realm. 

He was glad when they finally reached the Neck and left the North behind. They had been on the road for almost ten days and they had decided to rest a bit longer, camping two miles from the Kingsroad. 

“What the fuck is happening with those bloody horses?” Clegane snarled as he came closer, nodding towards the place where their mounts were bound.

It was true. The horses were agitated, dancing on their feet and trying to yank their ropes. Their nervousness had begun over an hour earlier and since then no one had been able to calm them down. It was already past dusk and the darkness was covering their camp. 

“I don’t know; maybe there are some wild animals around? Just in case we should leave a few guards with them. Also, let’s start more bonfires to scare potential predators. I will not risk some wolves or other monsters to…”

His words were cut short when out of nowhere he was swept from his feet by a wave of heat; the power of it making him lose his balance. Both Jaime and the Hound fell on the ground hard, groaning when they felt impossible heat, almost a brushing rush over his head. He looked up and froze in shock, upon seeing that the place where his soldiers had previously stood, obediently counting their numbers, had been consumed by fire. 

Most of his men had been turned into nothing, their burning remains only ashes. Others were running, screaming, and trying to put down the flames that had enveloped them. Some of his people were lying down and screaming, trying to yank their breastplates from their bodies. He gasped when he saw one of the soldiers howling, the steel of his helmet half-melted over his face. Jaime had heard men screaming like that when Aerys had them ordered to be burned alive. It wasn't a mere scream of pain. It was a helpless begging for mercy to quicken the agony and greet death. 

The horses went crazy, ripping their ropes and running around their camp, crushing many people under their hooves. 

_What had happened?_

He received his answer shortly after, when the peaceful darkness tainted with chaos caused by the suffering men, was ripped by a roar. 

Jaime gripped the grass under his palms, looking up and seeing a dark, gigantic shadow descend from the sky. It was darker than the moonless sky and aside from the roar, impossibly quiet. It was unthinkable, inconceivable and yet Jaime was certain that he was looking at a dragon. 

The monster was black like the night itself, his monstrous body covered by sharp spikes, long as most daggers and swords. Its green eyes were dancing around the camp and the beast landed amidst the burned people, crushing their remains under its giant claws. 

The dragon outstretched its wings, broad and thick, their size bigger than a ship’s sail and roared once more; this time loud enough to drown out the agonizing screams of the dying people. 

The green eyes lowered and looked straight at Jaime and the knight felt his body shake uncontrollably. The green gaze was just like the wildfire that Jaime had seen many times. And he knew that, just like an accursed substance, this monster had the same purpose.

To destroy everything in its wake.

To burn them all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revenge is a dish best served cold. Or maybe not... What do you think Jon's ultimate plan is?
> 
> Chapter 15 will be updated on March 13th (for real, we need a break).
> 
> But! I am in the process of rewriting my very first story posted on AO3 - "The Site of Fire". The original story has been removed by now and I am posting anew. Jon being pictured there might not be for everyone but I hope you would enjoy it!


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